White is in the Winter Night
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: Bakura is being stalked by a serial killer he met as a child, the memory of whom he blocked out. To make matters worse, Yami Bakura knows the person too---from a time period of unsolved mysteries and foggy, shadowy nights....
1. Death's White Rose

**Yu-Gi-Oh!**

**White is in the Winter Night**

**By Lucky_Ladybug**

**Notes: The characters from the show are not mine. The other characters and the story are mine. This was loosely inspired by several things: an old RP, a fanart of Bakura and Yami Bakura dressed as Shinichi Kudo and Kaitou Kid from **_**Detective Conan**_**, and talk of some recent TV specials on Jack the Ripper. It is part of **_**The Pendulum Swings**_** timeline, which has Thief King Bakura survive Zorc's destruction. Thanks to Aubrie and Kaze for plot help!**

**Chapter One**

Ryou Bakura gave a tired sigh as he sank down at the dinner table. Even the tantalizing smell of the pizza he had ordered could not fully manage to rouse him from his stupor.

It had been an unheard-of long day, starting with when he had woke up much too soon and had not been able to go back to sleep. He had felt like a zombie throughout breakfast and the walk to school. He had scarcely even registered Yami Bakura informing him that he had forgotten his lunch money. In a haze, he had wandered back upstairs and had gotten it, stuffing it in his pocket before leaving.

And the classes! History class had been a lesson on labor unions. It had been so dull that Bakura had barely been able to stay awake. Tristan had poked him every time it had looked like he was dozing, resulting in him coming back to himself for several more minutes before his eyes had started to droop again. He knew he had done horrendously on the test at the end of the class.

He was usually good at math, but he had stumbled through the pop quiz and had gotten several questions wrong. When he had awakened enough to see what he had written, he had stared in horror at the third story problem. Being close to Thanksgiving, the teacher had thought it would be funny to make story problems about food. But on the question about yams, Bakura had sloppily and sleepily written "yamis." He was just lucky there had been enough time to change it before it was time to hand in the paper.

"What's wrong with you?"

Bakura started, looking up as the grouchy Egyptian wandered into the kitchen. Throwing open the pizza box, the thief greedily took out a slice and bit into it, canine teeth bared.

"I'm so tired," Bakura said, unable to stifle a yawn as he took a slice of his own. "And I haven't started on my homework yet. . . ."

"You actually believe you could do schoolwork in your state?" Yami Bakura grunted as he sat at the table. Seasoned crumbs fell from the bottom of the slice, landing on the finished wood.

Bakura took a bite from his piece of pizza, then set it on a napkin. "No, I really don't," he sighed. "I'll have to take a nap first."

"And then cram until two in the morning," Yami Bakura said.

"At least I should be awake," Bakura yawned.

Yami Bakura had finished three slices and Bakura one when the phone rang. The British boy looked up in surprise. "I wonder if that's Father," he blinked. "He said he'd call when he got to Germany. . . . The layovers were being a nightmare."

"You'd better answer then," Yami Bakura retorted, taking a fourth slice.

Mr. Bakura had been reluctant to leave his son with someone he now knew as the King of Thieves, but with business calling---and his own inner, subconscious need to keep traveling---he had finally departed. He had tried to console himself with the thought that the character had been around for years anyway and Bakura did not seem any the worse for wear.

Bakura pushed back his chair, stumbling up from the table and wandering into the living room. He grabbed up the phone on the third ring. "Hello?"

He blinked. No one was answering him, but he could hear heavy breathing on the other end of the line. And now he was awake.

"Hello!" he said again, commanding this time. "Who is this?"

A click was his answer.

Annoyed, he dropped the receiver into the cradle and went back into the kitchen. "I can't stand it when people make crank calls!" he fumed, taking a second slice of pizza out of the box.

Yami Bakura licked his lips. "That's what it was?"

"It must have been," Bakura said. "They wouldn't say anything and I could hear them breathing!" He bit into the gooey cheese and crust. "Don't they have anything better to do with their lives?!"

"Apparently not," Yami Bakura said as he finished the fourth slice. "Didn't someone crank call us last night too?"

"Yes, actually. And the night before that. . . ." But Bakura trailed off, gaping at him. "How do you even enjoy the food when you inhale it every time?!" he exclaimed. And then he rocked back in surprised realization. "Yami, you're . . ."

"Looking like your older brother," Yami Bakura smirked. "I wondered how long it would take you to notice."

Bakura shook his head. "Why?" he asked. Despite the Infinity Ring's power of transformation, or perhaps because of it, Yami Bakura had preferred to appear as he had in his mortal life. Tonight he instead was appearing as he had when Bakura had possessed the Millennium Ring. And he was wearing some of Bakura's clothes, which fit him in that form.

Yami Bakura shrugged. "I wondered what it would feel like now, after everything," he said. He sneered. "My major complaint is that I have very little muscle in this form."

Bakura chuckled in spite of himself, but then sobered. "Yugi and the others don't even know about you yet," he said. "Whatever am I going to tell them when the time comes?!" That would be even more difficult than telling his father. After all, Mr. Bakura did not know the full truth behind Yami Bakura's identity or the terrible things he had done. Yugi and the rest did. It would be understandably much more difficult for them to accept that he was still around.

"I suppose we'll just tell the truth again," Yami Bakura grunted. "Though I can't say I'm looking forward to it."

Bakura gave a slow nod, taking another bite from the pizza.

****

To his relief, the rest of the night went exceptionally well. He was able to do his homework before sleeping and then get a full, uninterrupted rest. The next morning, he fixed breakfast and ate it with his Yami before setting about collecting his belongings for school. He stuffed the last book into his bag before jogging down the stairs.

"I'm going now, Yami," he called. "Don't get into too much trouble."

Yami Bakura made an unintelligible reply from where he was sitting at the computer in the living room. Bakura glanced over his shoulder.

"You're playing computer games?" he blinked.

Yami Bakura shrugged. "I was bored," he said.

Bakura shook his head with an exasperated sigh. "I must admit, I didn't think you'd be interested in Minesweeper," he said.

"It's really too mundane for my taste," Yami Bakura said. "I'd prefer something more involved." He smirked. "More . . . destructive."

Bakura groaned. He was about to reply when the telephone rang. "This time it must be Father!" he exclaimed, crossing the room to the small table and lifting the receiver. "Hello?"

Just as last night, there was silence. Bakura placed a hand on his hip. "Who is this?" he said. "I'll have you know it's against the law to make prank calls. And we have a caller I.D. I'll have you tracked down and arrested!" That was only partially true; while they did have a caller I.D., this number was coming up blocked. Bakura had no idea who was calling.

The low chuckle he heard then sent a cold chill up his spine. "Then you should already know who I am, shouldn't you, dear little Ryou?" a voice whispered. With that the person hung up.

Bakura swallowed hard. For some reason, his hands were clammy. He dropped the receiver, turning away from the phone as he took a deep breath. But it did not help. He was shaking.

Yami Bakura turned in the chair, his eyes narrowed in bewilderment. "What's wrong with you?" he asked.

Bakura shook his head. "I . . . I don't quite know," he gasped. "I . . . I'm sure I've heard that voice before, but I can't place where."

"This time they spoke to you?" Yami Bakura frowned.

Bakura nodded. "Yes. . . ."

"What did they say?"

Bakura turned, heading for the door. "Nevermind. I can't imagine why I acted the way I just did." He gripped his bag, his knuckles white. "I couldn't have really heard that person before. I'd remember where I heard a voice like that." He hauled open the door, stepping into the autumn morning. "Goodbye, Yami."

Yami Bakura watched him leave, his eyes narrowed. Something was definitely wrong. Bakura would never act like that if there wasn't. But as long as he would not talk about it, there was nothing Yami Bakura could do for him.

. . . Or was there?

The old thief studied the phone in thoughtfulness. If it rang again, he would answer. Maybe he could dust off his skills and pretend to be Bakura. And maybe then he would learn something.

But to his annoyance, the phone did not ring again. Absolutely nothing of interest happened at all until the mail arrived in the early afternoon. And though he usually left it for Bakura to bring in, today he was on edge and bored out of his mind. For wont of something to do, Yami Bakura went outside to collect the mail.

He muttered to himself as he stepped outside, ignoring the chill fall breeze on his half-bare arms. At least when he had been in the Millennium Ring he had gone to school with Bakura. It had been an amusing enough way to entertain himself---teasing Bakura, listening to the lessons, studying Bakura's friends and familiarizing himself with each one. . . . And though he was grateful to be free of the Ring and to have a physical body, he wanted something to do other than loiter around the house all day.

Perhaps he would have to take matters into his own hands and do something interesting. Unfortunately, all the "something interesting"s he could think of involved revealing his presence to people in the city who knew him, which he did not want to do just yet.

He opened the mailbox, taking out several envelopes and the weekly ads for the local grocery stores. Then he turned, heading back towards the house as he began to shuffle through everything. Bills . . . bills . . . bah.

Wait . . . what was this?

He frowned as he came to a very different, very strange envelope. It was hand-written, postmarked London, and bore no return address. Not only that, there was something oddly familiar about it. He had never seen Bakura get mail from London before. Why on earth would it feel as though he had seen something like it?

He wandered into the house, letting the door swing shut behind him. He had seen Mr. Bakura get mail from all over the world. Could that be where he had seen the hand-writing before? Perhaps, but if so, why was this letter addressed to Ryou Bakura?

He sat down in a soft chair, abandoning the rest of the mail to keep on the arm while holding onto the mysterious envelope. He was bored out of his mind, and what was more, he had opened Bakura's mail in the past. He reached to get his finger under the loose tip of the flap and rip it open.

He frowned more as he hesitated. Bakura was just coming to trust him. It was such a new and strange experience; he could not remember anyone trusting him before, actually---except when he, or Zorc, or both of them---_whoever_---had tricked Yugi Muto into believing he was an ally. He had not been able to believe how gullible Yugi was. And now, after everything he had done to Bakura, that boy was willing to take a leap of faith and believe in him.

_"You must have good in you somewhere, Yami,"_ he had said. _"You're a human, unlike Zorc ever was."_

He toyed with the envelope. This was ridiculous. He had never had such qualms in the past, even before Zorc. He was a thief, raised among thieves---until they had been brutally slaughtered to create the Millennium Items. But even though opening this piece of mail would be a small thing, he knew how Bakura felt about it being done. It might damage the trust he was trying to cultivate. And as bored as Yami Bakura was, he did not want that obstacle in his way.

He set the envelope on top of the other mail with a curse. Bakura would be home in a couple of hours. He could open it then.

Yami Bakura went back to the computer. Maybe he would try out one of those massive multi-player role-playing games. Something interactive sounded much more interesting then clicking little squares in search of mines. He could always harass the other players if he got too bored.

But on the other hand, if there were as many tedious leveling-up missions as he had heard, he might want to kill the game before he got very far.

****

When the door swung open some time later, Bakura acted as though he had forgotten about the strange call that morning.

"I'm home!" he called. He blinked at the sight of Yami Bakura sitting at the computer. "You haven't been there all day, have you, Yami?" he said.

Yami Bakura grunted. "No," he said. "I had lunch. And I brought in the mail. You got something from London."

"London?" Bakura blinked in surprise. "I don't know anyone in London. . . ."

"Well, someone sent something anyway," Yami Bakura growled. "And they didn't want to leave a return address."

Bakura frowned, setting down his bag. "That's odd," he said, walking over to the chair. But as he reached for the envelope, he froze.

Yami Bakura got up, narrowing his eyes. "What is it?" he demanded.

Bakura stared at the envelope, his heart hammering in his chest. "That writing," he gasped.

"You know it?" Yami Bakura grabbed the parcel, glaring at the hand-writing. Was that why it looked familiar---because it was one of Bakura's memories?

"I . . . I . . ." Bakura slumped back, placing a hand over his racing heart. What was wrong with him?! He could not remember where he had seen the writing any more than he could place the voice from the morning. And yet he knew that both of them filled him with a deep-rooted terror that he had not thought of in years.

"I'm opening this," Yami Bakura growled, tearing open the envelope. "You're in no shape to do it."

A single sheet of paper fell out, twirling down to land on the seat of the chair. Yami Bakura leaned over to take a look. After a moment, Bakura dared to look too.

The paper was plain white, with an insignia of a white rose in the lower left-hand corner. The message in the center was written in the same flowing, fancy script as that on the envelope.

_It's been so long, hasn't it, dear little Ryou?_

_I've missed you and your beautiful white hair._

_You shouldn't have gone away! It's taken me _

_so long to come back and find you. But now_

_you won't get away again._

And in a moment, a flood of memories roared through Yami Bakura's mind. Suddenly he knew where he had seen that hand-writing. It could not be, yet he knew there was no mistake.

"The White Death," he hissed in disbelief.

Bakura looked to him, stunned. "Yami?" he gasped. "You . . . you know who sent this?" The note meant nothing to him, except for increasing his feelings of terror. Yami Bakura's reaction was not helping.

Yami Bakura straightened, grabbing up the note in one hand. "That fiend!" he cried. "That _fiend!_"

Bakura stared. "Yami, your hand is trembling," he said. "What's going on? Who is this man?!"

"He shouldn't even be able to send this," Yami Bakura growled. "He should be dead. How could he not be dead?" He threw the note down, his eyes burning.

"Yami!" Bakura exclaimed. "What is it?! Tell me! Please tell me!"

Yami Bakura gripped Bakura's arms. "You can't remember where you met the person who sent the note?" he cried. "Is he the same one who called you? Think, Bakura, think!"

Bakura trembled, shaking his head. "I . . . I don't know!" he wailed. "I don't know where I met him. I don't remember at all! I . . . I just remember feelings. . . . Feelings of terror. . . ." He shuddered. "I think it is the same person as on the phone. . . . He called me 'Dear little Ryou.'"

Yami Bakura cursed, releasing him. "It can't be," he hissed. "It can't. . . ."

"Yami, you're frightening me!" Bakura declared, his eyes wide with alarm.

Yami Bakura looked Bakura in his eyes. "The man is a serial killer known as the White Death," he growled. "He always leaves a white rose at the scene of his crimes. He's obsessed with the color white. It's no wonder he would be fascinated with you." _But where on earth had Bakura encountered him?! Why couldn't he remember?!_

Bakura was horrified. "How do you know about him, Yami?" he queried. "You act like you actually, personally know him."

Yami Bakura turned away. "Nevermind," he snapped. "He was in the news. Look him up there." And with that he stormed upstairs, leaving a stunned Bakura staring after him.


	2. Unwelcome Revelations

**Chapter Two**

The old thief paced Bakura's room like a caged animal, his eyes burning, his mind confused, his heart racing. He was furious . . . angry . . . hateful. The memory of the sick note that had been sent to Bakura was seared into his mind, along with others he had seen in the past. And not just notes, but other things he associated with that long-ago time---bodies with white roses . . . a flowing cape in silhouette . . . the _collection. . . ._

_The White Death. . . ._

It could not be him! Yami Bakura had watched him die. But even if he had not, surely it was impossible for the twisted mind to be here now. At the most, it would have to be a copycat.

But it sounded exactly like him.

Blast, if he could see into Bakura's mind, maybe he would be able to find what the boy could not or would not remember. But without the Millennium Ring, he could not explore Bakura's soul room. Unless the Infinity Ring could do it too. . . .

He pulled on the cord, bringing the artifact out from under his shirt. He took it in his hands, staring at the ancient gold. It was worth a try, as far as he was concerned. He needed to know what Bakura was hiding. For the boy to have actually blocked it out worried him. He had not blocked out anything he had seen Yami Bakura, or Zorc, or whoever, do. It was all fresh in his mind. And Yami Bakura knew what the White Death was capable of doing. The thought of Bakura having ever encountered such a person filled him with outrage that he did not understand. No one should meet the grisly fate of encountering that monster, but Yami Bakura had not felt such strong feelings about any of the past victims.

"Yami?"

He looked up. Bakura was standing in the doorway, clutching several sheets of computer paper. He was pale, his hands shaking.

"Yami, this White Death man died running from the police!" he exclaimed.

"I know that," Yami Bakura growled.

Bakura advanced into the room, sinking onto his bed in a daze. "Then . . . then how can he call me?"

"I don't know that." Yami Bakura walked over to the bed, taking the printed news articles from Bakura. He skimmed through them, his eyes narrowing. Yes . . . he remembered what was being spoken of here---the crimes . . . the chase through the foggy streets of London . . . the killer's death. . . .

". . . I have a vague memory of an odd man who knew my father."

Yami Bakura looked up again, surprised at Bakura's words. "How so?"

A shrug. "I believe they were college roommates or something," Bakura said, "but I'm not sure."

He shook his head, looking down at his hands. "He was very interested in me. I never liked him. And then we moved from England and I don't recall my father ever speaking of him again. I was happy for that. I never asked. . . ."

Yami Bakura sat down next to him. "Why didn't you like him?" he frowned.

"That's what I don't remember," Bakura said. "Something seemed . . . terribly wrong with him." He shuddered.

". . . Why was he interested in you?" Yami Bakura feared the worst.

Again Bakura shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said. "He . . . he said I was different . . . special. . . . That he didn't know anyone else like me." He stiffened. "He . . . he said he wanted me to go live with him. . . . I . . . I ran crying to my mother. She was still alive then. . . ."

He stared at the floor. "I remember her and my father arguing that night. . . . She didn't know what had upset me, but she knew it had something to do with that man. She never liked him, either. She told my father that he needed to keep him away from me. He thought it was all rubbish and that I was just being foolishly paranoid, as children sometimes are."

His voice dropped to a whisper. "I haven't thought about any of this in years. . . ."

Yami Bakura was not pleased. "Do you remember what he looked like?" he demanded.

Bakura shook his head. "I think he liked white clothes," he said. "He kept himself very well-groomed. . . . Beyond that, I'm not sure."

Yami Bakura turned on the bed to face Bakura directly. "Did he touch you?" he demanded point-blank.

Bakura stared at him. "What?" he gasped.

"I'm sure you know what I mean." Yami Bakura looked back, never wavering.

Bakura had to look away. He was shaking again. "No . . . I'm quite sure he didn't. . . . I can't believe I wouldn't remember something like that. . . ."

"You couldn't even remember the man until an hour ago," Yami Bakura pointed out.

"I know, but . . ." Bakura got up. "Yami, I really don't want to talk about this."

Yami Bakura watched him with narrowed eyes. "I need to know."

Bakura whirled, his eyes filled with turmoil. This was too much being piled on him all at once. For he didn't know how long, he had just accepted that such was his lot in life, as others had wanted of him. And unless someone he loved was being hurt, in general he had not protested. But he would not take it any longer. The dam was breaking, releasing the stress and the pain from days and even years past.

"Why?!" he burst out. "You won't even tell me what you know about the man! Why should I tell you anything?!"

Yami Bakura rocked back. He had not anticipated that outburst. "This is important!" he said then.

"Even if it did happen, I clearly didn't want to remember!" Bakura said, his voice still raised. "I'm tired of how you expect me to be quiet and submissive and agreeable. In fact, I hate it! I won't always say and do what you want, or what Father wants, or what anyone wants! Sometimes I'm just going to do what I want---like you always do!"

Before Yami Bakura could recover enough to reply, Bakura was running out of the room, his footsteps thundering down the hall and the stairs. A moment later, the door slammed.

Yami Bakura jumped a mile at the sound. Then he growled, looking back to the papers in his hand. The explosion of emotions was highly unexpected, but Bakura would calm down and come back in a while. He should be given some space.

Unless . . .

What if the White Death had not been calling from London?

The old thief cursed, leaping up from the bed. Tossing the papers behind him, he ran after the boy who had taken him in during his darkest hour.

****

The sun was already setting on Domino City as Bakura ran towards downtown, his hair streaming behind him. His fists were clenched, his heart pounding in his ears. Angry thoughts ran through his mind, directed more at Yami Bakura rather than the stranger he only faintly recollected from his past.

How dare the thief expect him to tell all that he knew---and even what he did not consciously remember---when he was not willing to do the same? Why was he always like that---demanding and taking Bakura for granted and never giving back? Bakura had not really thought that he ever would, yet at the same time he could not help wishing that Yami Bakura would show a little appreciation. But why would he, when he never had before?

_I really am a fool!_ he berated himself. _I want something I knew I'd never have._

And the worry over the White Death was weighing heavy on his mind, too; otherwise he would not have suddenly snapped as he had done. The last question Yami Bakura had asked was echoing in every corner of his brain. It horrified and haunted him---especially because he could not say that he knew it had not happened.

What were the dark secrets of his past? What had he locked away and refused to speak of until he himself came to believe it was unreal?

Would his father still have any photographs of that man? Or any letters? Anything that would help Bakura identify him and bring his memories to light?

Did he _want_ to remember?

No, he did not. . . . But if this horrible person was entering his life again, then he needed to know everything.

He slowed to a walk. He should go home and look into this immediately. But at the same time, he was not ready to go back and face Yami Bakura yet. He sighed to himself, continuing down the street. He would have a nice, long walk until he felt ready.

He waved to Tristan on his motorcycle as he passed by the Turtle Game Shop, but kept walking, heading for the main business district. He did not really want to talk to anyone right now, just to collect his thoughts.

He vanished around a corner.

****

Yami Bakura was frustrated.

He did not entirely know where Bakura was headed, but if he had to take a guess he would pick the road leading to downtown Domino. He cursed at the thought. The main way to get there would first lead past the Turtle Game Shop, Yugi Muto, and his little friends, if they were there. Maybe Bakura had even stopped to visit. He would have to approach with caution. The last thing he wanted to do was to attract attention.

He ran faster, his shoes slapping the pavement.

He was certain that Bakura's outburst actually had very little to do with the current problem. After having shared a body and a mind with Bakura for so long, he knew how the boy bottled up his feelings until finally exploding in frustration and hurt. But what he was not entirely sure of was what he had done wrong now---aside from pressuring Bakura about his lost memories. As far as he knew, he had treated Bakura well enough.

"Hey! Bakura!"

He froze. One of Bakura's friends, Tristan, was calling. And it had to be to him, since Bakura was nowhere in sight. He half-turned as the teenager walked over to him. Could he will his hair to flatten down and his voice to lose its gravel, as he had when controlling Bakura in the past?

"How'd you get back here again?" Tristan continued. "You were just coming down this street ten minutes ago."

Yami Bakura stiffened. Oh great.

"I . . . I was walking around the block," he stammered, still not facing Tristan. Inwardly he cursed his luck. He could not properly imitate Bakura now. He had not managed to completely erase the harsh tones from his voice.

And Tristan noticed. "Hey, wait a minute." He grabbed Yami Bakura's shoulder. And even as the thief stiffened and tried to seize Tristan's wrist, the brunet forced him to turn and face him. His hazel eyes widened in shock and horror before narrowing.

"It's you!" he cried. "I knew it was too good to be true, that you were really gone." He continued to stare. "How are you back?! And how did you get around the block so fast? Are you casing the shop?" Hate flashed through his eyes. "Yugi doesn't have anything that you should want now!"

Yami Bakura pulled away in frustration. "You're right, he doesn't," he said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have far more pressing matters to deal with." He tried to walk around Tristan, but the boy spread his arms and blocked the way.

"Oh no you don't," Tristan snapped. "You're not going anywhere! How are you controlling Bakura this time? And you didn't answer how you're back. The Millennium Ring's _gone._ I watched it fall into that crack in the earth."

Yami Bakura reached out, shoving Tristan aside. "It's really none of your business." And he took off running.

Tristan stumbled back, nearly losing his balance. "Hey!" he yelled, grabbing a nearby tree to right himself. "Come back here!" Pulling himself upright, he dashed after the tomb-robber.

Yami Bakura did not need to turn to know that Tristan was coming after him. He cursed, increasing his speed.

. . . And smacked right into Bakura coming from the other direction.

Both of them stared in shock as they collided and then fell to the sidewalk, sitting down hard.

"Ow!" Bakura gasped.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Yami Bakura yelled as he recovered. "That madman could have been calling from right in town! What if he had found you?"

"Oh, why would you care if he did?" Bakura muttered under his breath.

Yami Bakura heard him. And he really wondered about the answer himself. But before he could answer, Tristan caught up with him.

And screamed in horror and disbelief, clapping his hands to his head.

"Gah! You split apart! What's going on around here?!"

Bakura started and looked up, his stomach sinking. "Oh, um . . . hello, Tristan," he greeted. This was bad. Very bad.

Tristan looked from him to Yami Bakura as they slowly got to their feet. Bakura rubbed his backside, wincing.

"We're both quite whole," he said, trying to smile. "It's a long story. . . ."

"One that we don't have time to tell," Yami Bakura growled. He grabbed for Bakura's arm to herd him along, but Bakura jerked it away.

Tristan frowned. "Yeah? Well, I think I've got a right to hear it," he said. "And leave Bakura alone! He doesn't want to go with you."

"Actually, we're going to the same place," Bakura said, "I think. I just don't want to be dragged there." He sighed. "Yami wasn't hurting me, Tristan. He . . ."

"Enough of this!" Yami Bakura took hold of Bakura's arm again. "We're leaving. Now." He started to walk off, pushing past Tristan as he pulled Bakura with him.

But Bakura would have none of it. He tore free again, glaring at the thief. "I can walk myself, thank you very much!" he burst out. "I probably shouldn't have even turned to come back. I was intending to keep going; I only changed my mind because I realized I'd just done a stupid thing."

"Well, at least you had enough presence of mind for that!" Yami Bakura retorted. "You shouldn't have left in the first place! What if the White Death had been watching the house?!"

"He wasn't, was he?!" Bakura retorted. "He's probably still in London. Or maybe it's all a sick prank being played by someone else entirely!"

"I won't take any chances!" Yami Bakura screamed. "You fool! You have no idea what you're dealing with!"

"Because you wouldn't tell me!" Bakura screamed back. "You know, I can't help but wish sometimes that you would show a little gratitude for what I've done for you! Do you know where you'd be right now if it wasn't for me?!"

"Yes, actually!" Yami Bakura said. "My spirit would have been shredded, torn to pieces. I wouldn't exist any longer. I wouldn't have any sense of self!"

Completely forgotten, Tristan stood and gawked.

"Wait a minute!" he cried now. "You _saved_ him?!" He looked to Bakura. "After everything he did to you?!"

"Yes, I did!" Bakura said, glaring at Yami Bakura as he spoke.

"Why?!" Tristan exclaimed.

"You know, I really have no idea!" Bakura declared. "He didn't deserve it!"

"That's the most sensible thing I've heard in this conversation," Tristan said.

"Oh be silent," Yami Bakura snapped. He kept looking at Bakura. "I am quite aware that I didn't deserve it. But I don't know what that has to do with this current situation!"

Bakura threw his hands in the air. "Nevermind then!" he said. "I shouldn't have to spell it out for you!" He whirled, stalking up the sidewalk.

Yami Bakura cursed. Then he chased after Bakura, leaving Tristan staring after them in shock.

For several blocks they walked in silence---Bakura not wanting to talk and Yami Bakura having nothing to say. But the tension between them was loud enough to deafen. At last Yami Bakura growled in frustration and resignation. He did not like this. He was not sure at all why, but he knew it bothered him.

". . . I was going to tell you, you know," he said. "You stormed out before I could get to that."

"You wanted me to try to dig into my past and find a memory that would be horribly traumatizing, if it exists." Bakura looked down at the sidewalk. "I don't appreciate that."

"Blast it, Bakura, I want to know what he did to you!" Yami Bakura snapped. "I want to know what could have been so abominable that you blocked it out."

"Why do you want to know?" Bakura frowned. "It's not like you have to worry now about me being a piece of your property to keep track of. It shouldn't matter."

Yami Bakura clenched a fist. "I couldn't tell you why even if I wanted to," he said. "I don't know why. But I know what that monster is capable of doing. The thought of him doing it to you . . . it makes me angry. No . . . it infuriates me."

Bakura blinked, stunned. "Yami . . . I had no idea." His confusion only increased, but his anger began to evaporate. He had always liked entertaining the thought that Yami Bakura cared about him and that he had been saved in Battle City because of that. But Yami Bakura's constant denying of doing it for any reason other than needing Bakura's body had taken its toll. Bakura had started to bitterly wonder if it had been true.

Yami Bakura sighed in defeat. ". . . The White Death came into possession of the Millennium Ring during his previous reign of terror," he said, deciding not to beat around the bush any longer.

Bakura's mouth fell open. "I thought I was the only one to have it, like Yugi was the only one to solve the Puzzle," he said, turning to look at the thief in shock.

"Well, you weren't," Yami Bakura growled. "Through the ages the Ring fell into the hands of quite a few mortals. Even Alexander the Great held it for a time."

Now Bakura was stunned. "I had no idea."

"Well, it doesn't really matter," Yami Bakura grumped.

". . . When was that?" Bakura wanted to know. "Those articles I found were from the 1880s. . . ."

"That's when it was," Yami Bakura said. "The Millennium Ring was held by that madman for over a year. I detested every minute of it."

"Then . . ." Bakura shifted. "Is it a ghost calling me and sending notes?"

"Not unless he's lingered and found a host," Yami Bakura said.

"Could he do that?" Bakura squeaked.

"I don't see why not," Yami Bakura said. "And I don't see how it could be anything else, unless it's someone pretending to be him. Are there any photographs of this friend of your father's?"

"I was going to look," Bakura admitted. "If you want, Yami . . . you could help. . . ."

"You would entrust me with your father's belongings?" Yami Bakura sneered, though he was actually surprised.

"You already sleep in his bed when he isn't here," Bakura said.

"True," Yami Bakura mused. "It's quite comfortable, too."

Bakura managed a rueful smile. Strange, how this banter felt so normal . . . even right.

". . . Do you truly believe I am ungrateful?" Yami Bakura asked now.

Bakura sighed. Suddenly he was so tired. "I really couldn't say, Yami," he said. "I wish you wouldn't be, and I wish you'd show it, but I know I shouldn't expect anything like that. You are who you are. I can't hope for anything else." He paused, thinking over his words. "Well . . . I do hope you won't try to take over the world," he said with a weak, humorless chuckle.

Yami Bakura grunted, deciding not to answer that. ". . . I pay my debts," he said at last. "And I am indebted to you, Bakura. Perhaps Shadi would have given me the Infinity Ring anyway, if I was supposed to have it, but that doesn't change the kindness you showed me. It was the last thing I would have expected from you."

He stared into the oncoming night. "Of course I'm grateful. But I'm terrible at showing it. I don't believe I've had a reason to show gratitude to anyone since I was a child. As you can imagine, I'm quite out of practice."

Bakura gave a sad, wan smile. "I imagine so," he said.

"And I'm still trying to sort out who I am," Yami Bakura went on. "That was the real reason why I took this form; I'm trying to determine which one feels the most natural to me."

"I see." Bakura fell silent, mulling over his thoughts. ". . . I shouldn't have gotten so upset. And . . . even though I suppose I'm not quite sure why I showed you kindness, I shouldn't have said that, either. Or that you didn't deserve it. Yami, I'm sorry." He looked to the thief.

"You were speaking the truth. I don't believe in sugarcoating." Yami Bakura shoved his hands in his pockets.

"But there is such a thing as common courtesy. I wasn't adhering to it. I was acting terrible." Bakura rubbed the back of his neck.

Yami Bakura remained unmoved. "That's another difference between you and I. You regret things. I don't."

Bakura frowned. "Never?"

"Of course," Yami Bakura growled.

Bakura just looked at him. Was he being entirely honest? He had averted his gaze. And from his body language, Bakura knew it would be futile to pursue this angle of conversation. Yami Bakura did not want to talk about it.

So Bakura let it drop. ". . . Well . . . thank you for telling me about the past, Yami," he said. "It means a lot."

Yami Bakura gave a noncommittal shrug.

They were turning onto their street now, as the late autumn light gave way to the darkness of evening. Bakura sighed as they passed under the branches of an oak tree at the edge of a neighbor's property.

"I wonder what Tristan's doing now," he said. "I'm surprised he didn't follow us."

"Most likely, he's telling the others all about his bizarre encounter." Yami Bakura's eyes narrowed in distaste. "We'll probably have company tonight. Or at least, the telephone will keep ringing."

Bakura nodded in agreement. But as they approached their house, he blinked in confusion. "What's that on the porch?" he asked.

"There shouldn't be anything on the porch," Yami Bakura said. As he turned to look, he frowned. Whatever it was, it looked small and white.

_White . . . !_

He cursed, running up the walk and then the steps. Bakura, right behind him, gave a gasp of horror as the item came into view.

A lone white rose.


	3. A Photograph

**Chapter Three**

_"Hello. Are you James' son?"_

_"Yes, sir."_

_  
"Oh, there's no need to be shy around me, dear Ryou. Your father and I . . . oh my. Is this your natural hair?"_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"It's beautiful. I've never seen anything like it. Never! Can I touch it? . . . Please don't shrink away from me, little Ryou. I won't hurt you. I wouldn't dream of it!"_

"Bakura!"

Bakura gasped, snapping back to the present. The rose was still there, laying so innocently on the porch. . . . A calling card left by a man who reeked of evil. . . .

"Let go of me!"

He started, looking to Yami Bakura in confusion. Then his eyes widened. His fingers were digging into the thief's upper arm, so tightly that that skin was turning red. He let go immediately, alarm and guilt in his eyes.

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. "Yami, I . . ."

"Nevermind." Yami Bakura was glaring at the rose. "Most likely, he just left this to let you know he's nearby. I don't think he's inside, but I won't take chances. I'm going to look everywhere. And I won't leave you out here, in case he's on the property. Stay right with me."

Bakura quaked, but nodded. He most definitely did not want to stay here alone. And he did not want Yami Bakura to go inside the house alone, either. Even though he could certainly hold his own, his hair was white, too. He could also become a target. Bakura was terrified almost out of his mind, which was highly agonizing when he barely even remembered the man, but he would not cowardly stay away.

They searched the yard first, but found no one. As they came back to the front, Yami Bakura went silently onto the porch. Behind him, Bakura fumbled to get out his keys. The thief took them, then unlocked the door and stepped inside. Bakura was right on his heels.

The living room was in darkness. The light shining from the streetlamp outside cast unsettling shadows on every wall and in each corner of the room. Bakura stared with wide eyes. Could that horrible man be hiding somewhere in here, just waiting to jump out and . . .

Without warning Yami Bakura flipped the switch, bathing the room in light. He advanced inside, his eyes narrowed as he looked behind the door and every piece of furniture. Then he whirled, going towards the kitchen. Bakura did not linger to make sure Yami Bakura had been thorough in his search; he dashed after the other.

It was only after the entire house had been searched and found empty that Bakura smacked himself on the forehead.

"What on Earth is wrong with me?" he berated. "I'm acting like a child."

"Was it just the sight of the rose that made you grab me?" Yami Bakura asked, glancing down at his arm.

Bakura shook his head. "I . . . seeing the rose made me remember when I first met him," he said. "I was frightened right from the start. He wanted to touch my hair. . . ."

"I can imagine," Yami Bakura growled. "He followed the elderly around everywhere, admiring their hair and trying to touch it. To discover someone young with white hair must have been a dream come true for him."

Bakura shuddered. "Let's go to my father's den," he said. "I want to see right now if he has any pictures of this wretched person."

Yami Bakura was quick to agree. But he had to wonder how either of them would recognize the man. If more of Bakura's memories did not return, he would draw a blank. And Yami Bakura doubted he would be able to see the man through his probable host body just from a photograph.

But both of them went sheet-white as they investigated a box of loose pictures.

"It's him!" Bakura cried, dropping the photograph like a hot rock. "I know it's him!"

Yami Bakura snatched it up, his eyes wide. "It _is_ him," he agreed in disbelief. "The exact man I remember from London. But . . . how is this possible?!"

The person in question looked unassuming enough. He posed for the camera with a calm smile and a white shirt and white jeans. His dark brown hair was nicely cropped and he sported a thin mustache and goatee. And Bakura's father, standing next to him, did not appear concerned.

Bakura swallowed hard, leaning forward to examine the picture again. He could almost feel the man's hands reaching out for his hair, a wild look in his eyes despite his gentle words. The British boy tried to resist the urge to lay a protective hand over his layers of locks.

That was when a new thought struck him. His eyes opened even wider, his skin turning all the more pale.

"Yami!" he burst out. "You said he's a serial killer. Would he harm my father?!"

Yami Bakura frowned, studying the photograph again before slipping it into his pocket. "Unlikely," he said. "Serial killers have precise patterns, and this man's pattern would exclude your father. He only murdered people with black hair. I doubt that's changed."

Bakura stared at him. "Black hair?!" he said, incredulous.

"It all tied in with his obsession," Yami Bakura said in annoyance. "He was enamored by white and loathed anything black."

"Yet he has a black heart," Bakura said. "What a horrible person! And to even use something as innocent as a rose as a symbol of his evil. . . ."

He stiffened. _Roses. . . . _What did that make him think of?

"What is it?" Yami Bakura frowned, looking to him.

Bakura shook himself out of the jumbled memory. "I'm not sure," he said. "It's not clear. . . . Something about a house with roses in the yard . . . all white. . . . And there's a dog barking. . . ." He shut his eyes. "I can't think about it anymore. Whatever it is, it's terrifying."

Yami Bakura growled. "You're going to have to face it sometime," he said. "Did you go in the house, Bakura? Think!"

"I don't know!" Bakura shot back. "I may have. . . . I'm afraid I did, but . . ." He opened his eyes again. "Yami, there . . . there's something evil in that house," he choked out. "I don't want to remember what it was. Please don't make me." His voice rose in his desperation and panic. _"Please!"_

Yami Bakura looked away, clenching a fist. The sheer terror in Bakura's voice was piercing something in his heart, the same as the thought that Bakura could have been molested by that wretch. It was not, he supposed, absolutely vital for the boy to remember right now. He only wanted it because he wanted to know what had been done.

But why did that matter so much?

"Fine!" he snapped. "Not that I could force you to remember anyway, but I won't try." He looked to the surprised teen. "If you do remember, it will either be through your own design . . . or his."

Bakura gave a shaky nod. "Thank you, Yami," he said, his voice quieting. "It means a great deal to me."

Yami Bakura grunted. He turned his attention back to the box, digging into it for more photographs.

Bakura drew a deep breath. ". . . He and my father were both studying archaeology and ancient artifacts," he said. "I think. . . . It seems like I can vaguely remember Father saying that while his speciality was Egyptology, this man had a broader range of study that included Europe and Asia."

"He always was interested in magical items," Yami Bakura said. "That's why he came in contact with the Millennium Ring." There was more to the story than that---mainly that he had heard tales of a white-haired spirit trapped inside it and he had gone even more mad wanting to have the entity in his possession. But Yami Bakura did not feel like telling that part.

Bakura stared. "Could he have others?" he exclaimed.

"He did then," Yami Bakura said. "I wouldn't be surprised if he has more now." His frown deepened. "One that he claimed to have was the legendary Eon Spear from Viking days."

Bakura blinked. "I've never heard of it," he said. "What did it do?"

"Supposedly, if someone was impaled with it, it became stuck and could only be removed by the wielder---or by someone other than the victim who possessed a magical item." Yami Bakura shrugged.

Bakura shuddered. "It sounds horrid!" he proclaimed.

"It might not even be true," Yami Bakura said.

Bakura averted his gaze, looking at the scattered photographs in the box. "It doesn't sound any stranger than a man who died in 19th-century London being alive today," he said.

The Infinity Ring caught the reflection of the light from the desk. The glare was suddenly in Bakura's eyes as he straightened.

His eyes widened again as he glanced to it. "Yami . . . !"

Yami Bakura was looking down at the jewelry as well. From his expression, the same thought that had just occurred to Bakura was also in his mind.

What if the madman had found an Infinity Item, supposing there were others? What if that was how he sustained physical form in this day and age?

". . . Shadi didn't tell you anything about the Infinity Items, did he?" he spoke.

Bakura shook his head. "He only mentioned this one."

He sighed, getting to his feet. "I'm hungry," he declared. "Maybe eating would help us both get our minds off of this mess. But I don't feel like opening the door to anyone, in case it wouldn't end up being the delivery person. . . ."

"There's frozen fried chicken," Yami Bakura said. "Cook that."

Bakura nodded. "That sounds quite good about now, actually," he said.

"Of course it does," Yami Bakura said. "It's meat."

Bakura managed to laugh as he headed for the kitchen.

Yami Bakura absently tossed the pictures back in the box and then got off the couch, heading into the hall. As Bakura entered the kitchen, Yami Bakura went into the living room and grabbed the remote control. He pressed the On button, then flopped on the couch as he waited for the picture on the television to become clear.

_"Police are baffled by a mysterious attack on local card professor Pete Coppermine,"_ the anchorwoman intoned. _"Earlier tonight, the twenty-two-year-old was violently assaulted on his way home to a well-known apartment complex in the city."_

Yami Bakura narrowed his eyes at the screen, which was showing several seconds of stock footage of this Pete Coppermine winning a duel. He recalled the name vaguely from a misadventure Yugi Muto and several of the others had gotten into a while back. But that was beside the point; coincidence or not, Coppermine had black hair.

"Well, what happened to him?" he growled at the screen. "Is he dead?"

_"Whoever the unknown assailant was, he was scared away by a car that suddenly turned the corner. The driver of the car, who wishes to remain anonymous, caught only a glimpse of white as the person fled."_

Yami Bakura cursed.

_"Coppermine was knocked unconscious and sustained several serious lacerations over his torso and arms. His current condition is unknown. The police currently have no suspects, but suspect the attack was personal."_

Yami Bakura muted the television. That was unlikely, particularly with the attacker wearing white. It would be an outrageously ridiculous coincidence if, at this point in time, a black-haired man in Domino City had been assaulted by someone in white who was not the White Death.

The ringing of the telephone startled both him and Bakura in the kitchen; the oven door abruptly slammed. Yami Bakura turned to look at the device, his face twisted in annoyance.

"I'll get it," he announced as he stood. "Just in case it's another call from _him._"

Bakura came to the doorway, concerned as the thief lifted the receiver. In one way, it did not seem the best idea, for him to answer. But in another, it would give Bakura some kind of comfort for the killer to know that he was not home alone, as was probably thought. It might be the best thing in the long run.

"Hello?" Yami Bakura growled into the phone.

Bakura found himself praying that it was not his father on the other end.

"Oh, so you're answering the phone now?!" came the sound of Tristan's voice.

Bakura slapped his forehead.

"What does it sound like I'm doing?!" Yami Bakura snapped. "Don't ask ridiculous questions that you already know the answer to; come to the point!"

"The point is, I don't like you hanging out in my friend's house!" Tristan retorted.

"Since he invited me, there isn't a great deal you can do about it," Yami Bakura said.

"Yeah, well, I can hardly believe he really invited you," Tristan said. "You must've manipulated him somehow."

"I didn't do a thing. And if that's all you've called to say, I'm putting down this receiver." Yami Bakura started to pull it away from his ear.

"Wait a minute!" Tristan yelled. "Is Bakura there?"

"Of course he's here!" Yami Bakura said.

Bakura audibly groaned. "Yami, maybe I'd better talk," he said, coming over and reaching for the receiver.

Yami Bakura shoved it into his hand. "Go right ahead," he said. "I'll keep watch on the chicken."

"It won't need to turn over for about fifteen minutes," Bakura told him, before putting the receiver to his ear. "Hello?" He doubted he was fully able to keep the dread out of his voice. This conversation would not go well---though he had to hope it would turn out better than their encounter on the street.

"Bakura, what's going on over there?!" Tristan exclaimed. "That creep sounds mad enough to bite through solid metal. Are you really okay?"

Bakura managed a weak smile. "I'm fine, Tristan," he said, not wanting to mention anything about the White Death. "I told you he wasn't hurting me, and it's true. We were just having a misunderstanding earlier. I am sorry you were dragged into it, though. . . ."

A big sigh. ". . . I told Yugi and Joey and Téa," Tristan said. "We're all worried about that guy living with you."

"I know, and I know I owe all of you an explanation," Bakura said. "I've been meaning to tell you. . . . I just wasn't quite sure how to go about it." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It is an awkward situation, since no matter how much I say he isn't causing trouble, it sounds hollow and unbelievable. . . ."

In the kitchen he heard the oven door creak open. The old thief was getting impatient.

"It's not time yet, Yami!" he called.

Yami Bakura shut the oven with a growl.

"Time for what?" Tristan asked in confusion.

"We're heating fried chicken," Bakura said, sheepish.

Tristan was silent a moment as he pondered the image of Yami Bakura keeping watch over something cooking in the oven. "Weird," he proclaimed at last.

Bakura chuckled. "You don't know the half of it, mate," he said.

Again Tristan paused. ". . . What was that crazy stuff he was saying before about some 'white death' watching your house?" he queried.

Bakura froze. "Well . . . that really isn't something to talk about over the phone," he said. "When I explain things, I'll tell about that, too."

". . . Okay. But Bakura . . . are you in some kind of danger?" Tristan sounded worried now. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that creep was worried about you. He sure didn't want that 'white death' to find you, that's for sure."

Bakura hesitated, his heart gathering speed. "I'll tell about it in person," he promised. "I'm sorry, Tristan, but I need to go. . . ."

Before Tristan could protest, Bakura had hung up. But no sooner had he put the receiver down than it rang again. He lifted it, frowning a bit suspiciously. "Hello?"

"Did you get my message, little Ryou?" the horrible voice purred. "I'm back. And I'll be coming for you, to bring you to live with me. You won't have to be in that house all alone anymore."

Bakura trembled, his hands suddenly clammy. It was him. It was _him! . . . _"I . . ." His voice cracked and choked out of his throat. "I won't go with you!" he cried. "And I'm not alone."

In an instant, Yami Bakura was at his side, grabbing the phone out of his hands. "That's right," he snarled, "so don't think you'll be getting away with your little sick scheme!"

"Dear Ryou isn't alone?" The White Death sounded surprised. But then, to their astonishment, he gave a delighted cackle. "I heard he came into possession of the Millennium Ring. You're the spirit from it, aren't you? You also have beautiful white hair. I never did hear you speak, but I remember how you glowered at me in my dreams. And how I tried to reach out and touch your hair, but my hand just passed through.

"Well, a mere spirit could not pick up a telephone or anything else, as I well know. You must have a physical body. This is wonderful. I'll be able to touch your hair now!"

Yami Bakura's visage contorted in disgust. "Try it and you'll be dead. Again. In fact, if you dare come anywhere near Bakura . . ."

"Just wait!" the madman interrupted. "You'll both be part of my collection! Oh, this is a good day." And with that he disconnected the call.

Bakura stared in confused horror as Yami Bakura squeezed the receiver in rage. "Yami, what did he mean?!" he exclaimed. "About the collection?" The very phrase filled him with the same feeling of evil that had plagued him in company with the flash of memory about the rose house and the dog. Even now, the dog was still barking in his mind. It haunted him. But even though part of him wanted to know the explanation and significance, another part told him that he was blocking it out for a reason.

Yami Bakura slammed down the receiver. "If you don't know, then I doubt you want to!" he said---which Bakura had to admit was true. "Now come. It's time to turn over the chicken."

He stalked into the kitchen. Bakura looked to the telephone with wide eyes before following.


	4. Hypocrisies and the Closet

**Notes: I absolutely do not believe that the two anime series were meant to be interpreted as the same timeline; if they were, the Duel Monsters anime would not have reconstructed several events depicted in the Toei series, such as Yami Yugi and Seto Kaiba's momentous first duel and Yami Bakura's and Shadi's introductions. Therefore, some of Bakura's musings after the phone call are partially Kaze's idea and a means of filling in blanks left in the Duel Monsters anime (though I suppose most could also apply to the manga version).**

**Chapter Four**

The rest of the evening was tense.

The chicken cooked well and was soon ready. Yami Bakura tore into it, not willing to discuss the phone call. Bakura ate silently, too worried over the phone call to think of trying to make conversation. The telephone remained silent throughout dinner, for which both of them were grateful.

Yami Bakura had not yet said anything about the attack on Pete Coppermine. He had wanted to eat before bringing it up, but as he watched Bakura wash the pan after dinner, he wondered if there was any point mentioning it at all. Surely it would occur to Bakura that the White Death might start killing people in Domino, especially since he had worried wondering if his father would be a target. Yami Bakura would tell him about Coppermine once it occured to him to ask.

. . . Unless he would not ask because he would be afraid of hearing the answer.

Several of Bakura's friends and acquaintances had black hair, too. Knowing the White Death as he did, was it possible that the wretch would deliberately go after them if he knew they knew Bakura? Yami Bakura did not doubt that it would be possible, especially if Bakura kept insisting that he would not go with the crazed man.

And Bakura had better never agree to go with him, even if he would think he would be protecting his friends from attack! Yami Bakura would have a few things to say about that if it happened.

"Yami?"

He started back to the present. Bakura was tiredly holding out a dripping pan. "Can you dry this, please?"

He muttered, but took it and grabbed a dish towel. Bakura managed a smile and looked back to the other dishes. "Thank you," he said. He did not trust Yami Bakura to clean the dishes as much as they should be, but he did think the thief would dry them well. It annoyed him when anything was dripping water.

". . . What were you watching on the television earlier?"

Yami Bakura froze at the question, looking to Bakura with a frown. "The news," he grunted.

"Did anything good happen?" Bakura sighed, as though he really did not expect it.

"I wouldn't know," Yami Bakura said, his voice flat and matter-of-fact. "The only story I saw was about some man being attacked."

"Is he going to be alright?" Bakura frowned, concerned.

A shrug. "They don't know yet." Yami Bakura finished drying the pan and set it back in the oven. "He was lucky---someone interrupted the assailant. But he was badly cut up."

Bakura hesitated. "Did they say who it was?" he queried. He took a plate to wash next, grabbing the bottle of dish soap.

"One of those card professors . . . Coppermine." Yami Bakura was already planning to visit the man and see what he could tell---though he was certain he knew what he would hear.

Bakura whirled to look at him, his eyes wide. "Pete Coppermine?!" he gasped. "Why was he attacked?"

"The police don't know," Yami Bakura said. "They believe it was personal."

Bakura frowned. "You said someone interrupted the attack," he said as he turned back to the sink. "Didn't that person see or hear anything?"

Yami Bakura was silent. "The killer wore white," he said at last.

The dish soap and the plate both clattered into the sink. Later on, Bakura would be thanking Heaven that they had not been eating off of china. But for now, the fallen dish was the last thing on his mind. He whirled again, horrified as he stared at the thief. "White?!" he wailed.

"Yes, white!" Yami Bakura growled, suddenly impatient.

Bakura shook his head, aghast. "But . . . that means . . ." He raised a shaking hand to his mouth.

"Don't tell me you didn't think he wouldn't start killing here," Yami Bakura said.

Bakura trembled. "I . . . I . . . oh Yami!" he cried in horror. He slumped back against the sink, digging a hand into his bangs. "What will I ever do? It's because of me he's come here. . . ."

Yami Bakura gritted his teeth. "Don't fall to pieces!" he snapped. "We'll stop him. But blaming yourself won't get us anywhere!"

Bakura shook his head. "I just feel terrible, Yami," he said, "knowing that he's here to stalk me, and now someone's hurt because of him . . ."

His eyes narrowed as his visage turned accusing. "You weren't going to tell me, were you?"

Yami Bakura looked at him in frustration. "Not unless it became imperative, no," he said. "Or unless you asked, which you did."

Bakura pushed himself away from the sink. "I have a right to know!" he said. "I don't appreciate you keeping things from me!"

"And the reason I didn't feel like telling you was because I knew it wouldn't do any good!" Yami Bakura countered. "I knew you'd react exactly as you're doing! How is that helping anything?"

"I'm not a china doll!" Bakura retorted. "I can take it!" He flung his hands in the air. "Of course I'm upset! Under these circumstances, why wouldn't I be?! Anyone with a heart and a conscience would be absolutely sickened!" He glared at Yami Bakura. "That doesn't mean I shouldn't be told!"

Yami Bakura was opening his mouth to reply when a loud and abrupt ringing cut him off. He whirled, glaring out the door at the telephone in disgust.

Bakura stormed past him and into the living room. "I'll get it," he said. "I don't think _he_ would call back again so soon. But even if it is him, I'll face the problem, as I am quite capable of doing!" He grabbed up the receiver. "Hello?"

Yami Bakura came to the doorway, crossing his arms. Bakura's angry features registered surprise, then worry, as he listened to the caller. "Oh! Hello, Father. Are you in Germany now?" he asked.

"Finally," Mr. Bakura said in exhaustion. "You wouldn't believe what's been happening, Ryou. Sandstorms, fog, _monsoons . . . !_ I'm starting to think something didn't want me to get here."

Bakura sighed. "Well, at least if you're safe . . ."

"Yes, I know; that's what matters." Mr. Bakura sighed too. "How are you doing, Ryou?"

Bakura paused. He did not want to lie to his father, but how could he worry him saying that a serial killer was after him? That would only make a horrendous trip even worse. There would not be anything the man could do about it, save for canceling everything and coming home. . . .

He looked at Yami Bakura, his eyes widening again before realization and guilt flashed across his face. He had been so angry at the thief a few minutes ago, yet here he was in essence planning to do the same thing as Yami Bakura had done.

From his expression, Yami Bakura seemed to gather what was going through his mind. A smirk creeped across his face. Bakura waved him off.

"Ryou?" His father sounded worried.

"Yes, Father, I'm fine," Bakura said. "Everything's well here."

"That thief isn't causing any trouble, is he?"

Now Bakura could detect the hint of urgency in his tone. "No, Father," he said. "He's been quite well-behaved."

Yami Bakura snorted in derision.

Bakura shifted, hesitant again. "Father . . . I . . . I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," he said. "I was wondering . . . do you remember a man we knew in London who was fond of white?"

Mr. Bakura went stone silent.

Bakura swallowed in discomfort. The sudden tension was almost tangible.

". . . Why do you ask?" Mr. Bakura said at last.

"Oh . . . no reason," Bakura said, hoping he sounded casual enough. "I just had an odd flash of memory of such a person and wondered who he was."

"Well, there's no need to wonder about him," Mr. Bakura said. "He's no one to us."

"Why is that?" Bakura asked. "Is he gone?"

"We had a . . . difference of opinion," Mr. Bakura said, "on a lot of things. I haven't had anything to do with him in over twelve years."

"That seems quite extreme for a difference of opinion," Bakura said.

'Trust me, Ryou, it wasn't." Mr. Bakura sounded tense and urgent again. "There's no need for you to think about him. Just forget about him, alright?"

"Okay. . . ." Bakura sounded hesitant and confused. "I've never heard you so worried about anyone, Father. Not even when you realized the King of Thieves is living here."

"Yes, well . . . he's only a thief. There're far worse things in the world."

Bakura's heart sank even further as he thought of the half-truths his father had been told about Yami Bakura. But the man's attitude was also clearly revealing what he thought of his old college roommate by comparison, something that was not encouraging in the least.

"I suppose," he said then. "Well . . . I'll let you go, Father. . . . I'm glad you're in Germany safe."

"Me too. And now for that conference. . . ." Mr. Bakura groaned at the thought.

Bakura winced. "You'll do fine," he said.

"I'd better," was the reply. "The future of this exhibit at the museum depends on my ability to negotiate for these artifacts.

"Take care, Ryou."

"You too," Bakura said. He hung up, feeling melancholy for more reasons than one. Within five minutes his father probably would not even remember their odd conversation; he was always so occupied with his work.

The British boy ran his hands over his face. Mr. Bakura had never been the same since half their family had been killed in that car crash. He could not seem to bear staying in their house for more than a couple of days at the most. That was the real reason why he was always traveling and then staying at the museum when he was in town. Bakura just wished the man would realize that he was not the only one hurting.

It was partially because of Bakura's immense loneliness and sorrow that he had held onto the Millennium Ring even after discovering the nasty spirit inside. Yami Bakura had preyed on Bakura's solitude, he was sure---but at the same time, he had told Bakura that he had been alone for most of his mortal life and that he could understand the crushing, agonizing feeling like no one else could. They would make a good team.

Bakura had gone along with that, oddly comforted in spite of his fear. Yami Bakura had always been there, someone to talk to when he was upset or sad or just could not stand the pain. Not that he had been very good company, but Bakura had clung to him in desperation as a refuge from the loneliness.

That had continued until the character had made his first attempt to get the Millennium Puzzle, when he had sealed Bakura's schoolmates' souls into their favorite cards. When Bakura had protested the plan, he had been sealed into the game too. But Yami Bakura had seemed to think Bakura would stay loyal to him; he had been genuinely shocked when Bakura had rebelled.

Bakura had fought against him ever since then, growing to hate the spirit more with every terrible adventure. And yet, there had been a couple of times when he had thought Yami Bakura might care for him. His own feelings had softened then as well. Perhaps deep down, in spite of what he had believed, he had never fully hated Yami Bakura. When he had at last been rid of the burden following Zorc's destruction, he had tried to save the other's torn and mangled essence. Now . . . here they were, two misfits living together.

He stared into the slanted and mysterious brown eyes that so closely mirrored his own and yet could not be more different. Suddenly the entire magnitude of the danger they were in---or at least as much as he could determine from his fragments of memory---was pressing on his heart. He wanted more than anything to break down, to just hopelessly cry and hug the gruff Egyptian for comfort.

But he did not. He drew a shaking breath. "I'm such a hypocrite, aren't I?" he said quietly.

A sneer. "You could say that."

Bakura's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Yami." He turned to head for the stairs. "I think I'm going to take a shower. Maybe I'll be able to clear my mind. . . ."

"Go right ahead." Yami Bakura went over to the couch. "I believe I'll see what's on television."

"Try to find out if there's any news about that poor man," Bakura said as he climbed the steps to the top.

Yami Bakura grunted unintelligibly, grabbing up the remote control.

As Bakura gathered a spare change of clothes and walked to the bathroom, the sound of the television came up from downstairs. He paused to listen, but it was too muffled to make anything out. So he sighed, entering the bathroom. Out of habit, he locked the door behind him before setting the clothes on a shelf.

He began to pull his sweater off over his head, wincing as the mysterious energy force of static cling activated and caused his hair to not want to let go of the woolen material. As he fought to untangle a particularly stubborn lock from around his arm, he accidentally flung his hand against the light switch. The room plunged into darkness.

Bakura exclaimed in frustrated surprise at the unexpected blackout. He reached to flip the light back on, but instead froze. There was a sliver of light coming in the window from the moon outside. And that was bringing back part of a long-sealed memory, something he had never wanted to think of again. He gasped, falling back against the door.

_He turned around as he locked the door of the room that he prayed was his sanctuary, away from the evil that was pursuing him. The room was dark despite the daylight, filled with strange shadows and shapes that one's imagination could turn into all sorts of goblins and ghouls---and in his already-terrified state, that would be easy for him to do. He tried not to look._

_He wished he could block out the sound of the barking dog, but even in here, he could hear it. That only made him all the more tense and on edge. He clenched a fist, silently willing the animal to be quiet. It did not work._

_A thin ribbon of light shone through a mostly-concealed window, causing his heart to pound faster. If he could climb up to it, maybe he could get it open and escape to freedom! He had to be quick and quiet, not drawing the wretched man to his hiding place._

_He advanced forward, brushing the edge of a nearby bench. Something clattered to the floor and he gasped, flinching and jumping back. There he froze, his heart racing and his breath held. Was someone coming? Did he hear footsteps? Maybe it was just his worst fears trying to catch up. This room was very out-of-the-way. Surely no one had really heard. . . ._

_He stared down at the object, partially visible in the dim light. It was a strange instrument, the likes of which he had never before seen, coated in a dark substance. Was it rust? No . . . there was some of it on the floor now. It was fresh._

_He clapped a hand over his mouth. What __**was**__ this place?!_

_Choking back a sob of horror, he made his way past the table. He had to keep going. Now he could see that there were some boxes stacked against the wall near the window. All he had to do was climb up and pray that the window was unlocked._

_A sound in the hall made him stumble, knocking into a nearby door. He grabbed the knob, using it to steady himself. Someone really was coming now; the floor outside was creaking. He clutched tighter at the knob, trying to turn it. Maybe he could hide in there. . . ._

_The door came open just enough to reveal a small, dark closet---and something else, something his five-year-old mind could never dream of or comprehend._

_His scream ripped through the treacherous room and the rest of the house._

Yami Bakura jumped a mile as the horror-stricken cry pierced every room in the house. Without a thought he leaped to his feet and ran to the stairs, clearing them two at a time. "Bakura?!" he yelled.

There was no reply.

He dashed to the bathroom door, jiggling the knob. "Bakura!" he called again, slamming his fist on the wooden slab. "Open this door!" Could the White Death have broken into the house? Was he in there with Bakura right now? No . . . surely he would hear some indication of a confrontation or a struggle. . . . Unless Bakura had been knocked unconscious. . . .

He threw himself against the door. It weakened, creaking in protest, and he slammed his body into it once more. The catch unstuck, sending the door swooping open to bang on the wall. Then the thief could only stop and stare in disbelief.

Bakura was alone in the darkened room, clutching the windowsill as he trembled and sobbed. He looked like a lost child as he stood there, his shoulders shaking and his head lowered.

"Bakura!" Yami Bakura ran into the room, seizing the boy's left shoulder.

Bakura reacted instantaneously, screaming in panic. He tried to pull away, slapping at the other's hand.

Yami Bakura cursed. He grabbed Bakura's other shoulder, fighting to turn the boy to look at him. "Bakura!" he yelled, struggling to be heard over the teen's terrified cries. "Bakura, it's me. You're not in danger!" He cursed again, in frustration and helplessness, as Bakura pushed and kicked at him. "Look at me!" He gave Bakura a rough shake. "_Look_ at me!"

Bakura, jolted by the shake, blinked, staring into the worried brown eyes. "Yami . . ." he whispered in surprise. Then he quaked again, new tears springing to his eyes.

"It was _horrible!_" he cried. "I . . . I was running from him, and I went into this room where there were tools and blood and . . ." His voice was shaking so badly that Yami Bakura could barely make out what was being said.

"The dog . . . it kept barking. . . . I kept wishing so much that it would stop, but it didn't. . . ." He shuddered. "I think I knew where it was, only I couldn't go to it. . . . _He_ was coming. . . . He knew where I was and he was coming closer. I had to hide. . . ."

Yami Bakura's eyes narrowed.

"I . . . I opened a door. . . . It led into a closet. . . ."

"Was there anything in there?" Yami Bakura frowned.

Bakura collapsed into Yami Bakura's arms, clutching at the thief in a desperate embrace. "I don't know!" he exclaimed. "My memory fades there. Whatever I saw . . . I'm still subconsciously determined to block out. It's so dark . . . so dark and evil. . . ."

Yami Bakura stared in shock, more at his actions than his words. Then he cursed, holding the trembling boy close.

_You will never get this boy again,_ he vowed. _I'll send you to Hell first._


	5. Cages

**Notes: Kaze found a heart-breaking fanart the other day, depicting Thief King Bakura with what must have been his version of Amane, killed in the Kul Elna massacre. I decided I wanted to incorporate such an element here.**

**Chapter Five**

Yami Bakura crossed his arms, glaring out the window of Bakura's room at the frosty night. Overhead, the moon cast strange and ominous shadows across the property, twisting the trees and bushes into mysterious phantoms. But Yami Bakura could not care less about that. He was looking for the silhouette of a man. Yet, seeing none did not make him relax.

He gripped his arms tighter. It was forecast to snow sometime tonight or tomorrow, and judging from how cold it felt over here by the window, he did not doubt it.

He turned away from the glass, looking to where Bakura was burrowed under the covers. The boy seemed to be asleep, but who could be sure? He shuddered, bringing the pillow closer to him.

Yami Bakura had undergone the most difficult time getting Bakura to even lay down. It had taken an hour for him to calm down enough to shower. Then he had deliberately dawdled a long time drying his hair before going downstairs and blankly watching informercials on television. He had been afraid to sleep, not wanting to dream---or to be unaware of what was happening in the house. Yami Bakura had only convinced him to go to bed when he had promised to stay right in the room instead of going to Mr. Bakura's room.

But he had actually planned to stay there, anyway. He was not going to take any chances that the White Death knew which room was Bakura's. It would be just like him to have watched the house long enough to know the approximate layout and to try to break in through Bakura's window.

In one way, Yami Bakura almost wished he would. Then this could end here and now. Of course, there was always the chance that it would not be that simple.

He narrowed his eyes as Bakura rolled over, his face contorted in pain. Whatever he was dreaming about, it was not pleasant.

Yami Bakura looked away. What was this intense, protective feeling where Bakura was concerned? He had felt it before, such as during Battle City, though he had denied it so much to Bakura and to himself that he had started to believe it had never existed. But he could not deny it any longer.

He glowered at the wall. He had brought so much suffering to Bakura in the past. He was not about to say it had only been Zorc; it had been both of them. And yet the thought of anyone hurting Bakura filled him with a fury and a rage that made little sense to him. He had not wanted to protect anyone for millennia.

There had been others close to him killed in the massacre of Kul Elna---other family members, friends. . . . His own younger sister. . . . He had not been able to do a thing to save any of them. He had not seen his sister killed, but when everything had ended and the soldiers had left, he had found her necklace abandoned by the newly-formed Millennium Tablet.

He still remembered falling to his knees in all the blood as he clutched the necklace and cried.

In the present, he dug his fingers into his arm. He did not want to think about that.

He turned back to face Bakura. The boy was half-buried in the pillow, his face still twisted in pain.

Growling under his breath, Yami Bakura walked to the bed and sat down on the edge. He reached out, laying his hand on Bakura's shoulder. The teen tensed.

"It's me," Yami Bakura grunted. "You're safe, Bakura." His voice hardened. "And you're going to stay that way. I could do nothing for those at Kul Elna. But I _will_ save you."

At first nothing happened. But then Bakura relaxed, loosening his death grip on the pillow. He smiled, now at peace.

Yami Bakura took his hand away. He was more confused than ever, both at his words and Bakura's reaction. But his resolve was strong. He meant it all and he would prove it.

He leaned back, crossing his arms. He doubted that he would get any sleep tonight.

****

The rest of the night passed without incident. The morning dawned cold and cloudy, the threat of snow still hanging in the air although none was on the ground.

Bakura stirred, throwing back the covers as he stretched and shivered. In the morning, when the heat was not on, it felt more like winter inside the house than at any other time.

He yawned, running a hand through his bangs as he opened his eyes. He could not remember what he had dreamed about now, only that he was certain it had involved the White Death. But then the nightmare had stopped and he had slipped into a peaceful, dreamless slumber. And strangely, it seemed like the one responsible for that had been . . .

"Yami?" he mumbled, and then blinked in surprise. The white-haired man was slumped against the post near the foot of the bed, asleep.

Bakura shook his head, both amazed and touched. Yami Bakura had stayed, as promised. And it looked like he had tried to stay awake, but had failed.

"Surely you must be cold," Bakura said, keeping his voice low. He sat up and leaned over, gently draping the quilt around the other's shoulders. Yami Bakura did not stir. Bakura smiled kindly at him, then eased himself off the mattress with care, tip-toeing out of the room.

Soon he was refreshed and dressed, making pancakes for breakfast as he listened to the local news. He perked up as he heard a familiar name.

_"Police still have no leads on the identity of the man who assaulted card professor Pete Coppermine late last night,"_ the radio announcer said. _"Officers hope to speak with Coppermine as soon as possible to see whether he can shed any light on this mystery. He is recovering and is listed in stable condition."_

Bakura breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness," he said.

A creak on the stairs brought his attention up. Yami Bakura soon wandered into the kitchen, looking half-asleep. His hair was even more wild than usual, but he did not notice.

"There's an idea," he said.

Bakura looked at him, not comprehending. "Yami?" he asked.

The thief pointed at the radio. "We should contact this Coppermine character," he said. "Perhaps he'll tell us something too."

Bakura stared. "The police are going to talk to him, Yami," he said. "Shouldn't we just let them handle it?"

"Of course not!" Yami Bakura growled. "They'll take too long. We should get started immediately." He pointed at the phone. "Call and see if you can get him to see us."

"Why not call him yourself?" Bakura said in amazement.

"Because you have better luck with people," Yami Bakura grunted. "If this was in the days of the Millennium Ring, I would have disguised myself as you to make the call. But I no longer have that ability."

Bakura shook his head. "He might not even be awake," he said. "Why not at least wait until after breakfast? And what is it you hope he can tell us, anyway? We already know it must have been the White Death attacking him."

"Just because it must have been doesn't mean it actually was," Yami Bakura said. "Of course the coincidence would be preposterous, but we should investigate anyway. Maybe Coppermine even heard him give some clue as to who may be his next victim."

"And then we might be able to prevent it from happening!" Bakura said.

"Confronting the White Death while we're at it," Yami Bakura said.

Bakura shuddered. He did not want that meeting to take place, even though he knew it would be necessary at some point.

"Did you remember any more of your experience?" Yami Bakura wanted to know.

Bakura hesitated. "If I did, it was in a dream that I don't remember now," he said. "I do remember I was lost in a terrible nightmare. . . . But you broke through it."

Yami Bakura raised an eyebrow. "I?"

Bakura nodded. "Somehow I sensed you there," he said. "It was odd. . . . I had the feeling that I was perfectly safe. I slept peacefully then."

Yami Bakura grunted, looking away.

"After all we've been through, it seems strange . . . and yet, somehow, it makes sense," Bakura said as he flipped the pancakes in the skillet. "I do trust you, Yami. I know you won't let anything happen to me if you can at all help it."

"It is strange," Yami Bakura growled. He shuffled to the table, collapsing in a chair on the right side. Exhausted, he rubbed his eyes with the fingers of one hand. "It's bizarre that you trust me. It's outlandish that I want to protect you. I don't see why it makes sense."

Bakura hesitated, a pancake poised on the spatula. "I'm not sure myself," he said. "But I felt your concern when you held onto me last night---and when you stayed all night, as I'd hoped you would."

He looked down at the food. "When my father was here, he asked if we were friends. We both reacted quite strongly to that idea." He chuckled, then sobered. ". . . I always longed for you to be a friend, but I thought it was a vain and foolish wish." His voice lowered. "It wasn't though . . . was it, Yami?"

The thief looked to him, stunned. Then he averted his gaze. "I don't know," he growled.

Bakura glanced at him with a quiet, melancholy smile. "Maybe someday you will," he said. "Perhaps you know deep down, but because of your confusion over who you really are, you're not sure what to think."

"I don't need you to psychoanalyze me," Yami Bakura grumped.

"I know. I'm just thinking aloud." Bakura finished the pancakes and then stacked them on a plate. As he brought them to the table, Yami Bakura watched with greedy, hungry eyes.

"Dear me," Bakura commented. "I don't think I've seen you give such a murderous look to anything other than meat."

Yami Bakura stabbed several pancakes all at once with his fork, depositing them on his plate before grabbing the butter and syrup. Bakura was not sure whether to be amused or disturbed as the former tomb robber slathered the pancakes with both, all the while sneering in anticipation. As he then tore into them with teeth bared, Bakura facepalmed.

"We really do need to work on learning the proper table manners," he said as he took some pancakes of his own. "I won't be able to take you anywhere if you eat like that!" Trying to make a point, he buttered the pancakes and poured syrup on them before cutting off a small portion with his fork and placing it in his mouth.

Yami Bakura glanced at him briefly, unimpressed. "Your way is boring," he said. Then he returned to his attacking of his own pancakes.

Bakura shook his head. "Why on earth do I bother?" he said aloud.

****

After breakfast, Bakura finally agreed to call the hospital and try to arrange a short meeting with Pete Coppermine. His polite, unassuming nature made an impression---Pete consented to talk with them, though he doubted he could tell them any more than he had told the police, who had already been by. ("What was that about the police not moving fast enough?" Bakura said upon hanging up. He received a grunt in reply.)

Nevertheless, within the hour the white-haired duo was at the hospital, looking for the correct room.

"There it is," Yami Bakura pointed out as they reached the end of a left-hand corridor.

Bakura looked. He was right---the door matched the number they had been given. He reached up, giving a quiet knock.

"Come in," called a voice from inside.

Bakura pushed the door open and slipped inside, Yami Bakura right behind him. The raven-haired card professor was sitting up in bed, shuffling through Duel Monsters cards. He glanced to his visitors, then set the cards aside.

"Hello," he greeted. Then he peered at them more closely, looking confused. "So . . . which one of you is Bakura?" he wondered. "I remember hearing that you entered the Battle City tournament and made it to the finals."

Bakura blushed. "Well . . . it's a long story, but . . ."

"I'm the one who entered," Yami Bakura smirked, stepping forward. "As far as the name goes, we're both Bakura." They had still not determined what to do about the name dilemma yet. With a dangerous serial killer chasing them, figuring out how to introduce Yami Bakura to other people was not a high priority.

Pete raised an eyebrow. "Okay," he said. "You're brothers or something?"

"Or something," Yami Bakura said, still smirking.

"Anyway," Bakura said, anxious to get away from this awkward subject, "thank you for agreeing to see us, Mr. Coppermine."

"Just Pete's fine," Pete said. "And like I told the police, I really don't know much. This creep dressed all in white just leaped down in front of me when I was walking home."

"'Leaped down'?" Yami Bakura frowned. "You don't know from where?"

"At least a story or two above me," Pete said. "He was up on a building. Crazy guy."

"Did he say why he was attacking you?" Bakura asked.

"Something about 'my kind' needing to die," Pete said. "The police think it was some kind of a hate crime, and I'm inclined to agree. I always thought this city was pretty tolerant of the goth subculture, but I guess there could be some bad apples anywhere."

Yami Bakura folded his arms. "He didn't say anything else?"

"Nope, he just started slashing at me with his knife," Pete said. "I got the feeling he was pretty skilled at using it. I was fighting him off good until he pulled a move that sent me crashing to the pavement. Then it was lights out." He rubbed at his head in emphasis.

"That's terrible!" Bakura exclaimed.

Pete shrugged. "I'll be alright, thanks to that driver," he said. "If I'm a good boy, they'll let me go later today." He smirked.

"Have you told us all that you remember?" Yami Bakura asked.

"That's it," Pete said. But then he frowned, seeming to remember something as he stared at their hair. "No . . . there was something else," he realized. "A cat."

"A cat?!" Bakura said in amazement.

Yami Bakura's eyes narrowed. "What about a cat?"

Pete leaned back. "When the guy jumped down, he was holding a metal cage thing," he said. "There was a white cat in it, pawing at the door and trying to get out."

Bakura went sheet-white. _Pawing to get out. . . ._

_The dog was barking. . . ._

_A door creaked open, revealing a room adorned in shades of red on the walls and on the floor. Cages lined the walls on both sides. In each one was a different animal. Some were whining or yowling, while others slept, some paced, and still more tried to get out of their prisons. They only had one thing in common. . . ._

_The man in white walked up the long, richly-designed rug in the middle, his hands behind his back. "Aren't they magnificent, little Ryou?" he said. "They're part of my prize collection."_

_Bakura followed after him, his innocent eyes wide in horror. "Why?" he exclaimed. "Why are they all in cages?"_

_"So they don't escape, of course," was the chuckling reply. "We can't have that now, can we?"_

_"But they look so sad!" Bakura protested._

_As if in confirmation, a Samoyed dog at the end of the row looked at Bakura with mournful eyes. As the British boy turned to look back, it began to bark in pleading desperation._

"Hey!"

Bakura gave a start. Both Pete Coppermine and Yami Bakura were staring at him, Pete in confusion and Yami Bakura with narrowed eyes.

"Are you okay?" Pete frowned. "You really spaced out."

"Y-yes," Bakura stammered. "I'm fine. Please excuse me. . . ." And he fled out the door.

Yami Bakura growled. Without bothering to say anything to the bewildered card professor, he exited as well.

Bakura was already at the other end of the hall, slumped against the wall as he ran his hands over his face. Yami Bakura went over to him, grateful that no one was in the corridor to bother them.

"What is the matter with you?" he demanded.

Bakura looked to him, clearly shaken. "There was a room," he said. "A room in that house that was filled with white animals. They were all trying to escape. . . ."

Yami Bakura's expression only grew more grim. "Is that all you remember?" he asked.

Bakura gave a weak nod. "The dog I've been hearing in my mind . . . it was a Samoyed," he said. "It wanted me to help it get free. . . . But I can't remember if I was able to do anything for it! I can't . . ."

Yami Bakura just watched him, not offering to say more. _He doesn't recall the worst part of that wretch's 'collection', if he was ever aware of it, _he thought to himself. _Could that be what he saw in the closet? It would certainly be enough of a horror that his young mind could have easily blocked the memory._

But he had no chance to ponder any further. A commotion in the connecting hall brought both of them to attention. Bakura stared as a gurney was rolled past, with doctors and nurses frantically trying to help the badly-bleeding black-haired man lying upon it. The chalk-white patient did not seem to be responding to their attempts. As the man was rushed to the emergency room, Bakura caught a snatch of conversation.

"Doctor, there's still no sign of life."

A furious curse. "If we can't save him, then that monster in white has just committed murder."

Bakura trembled. As he and Yami Bakura exchanged a look, Bakura suddenly felt faint. He stumbled, grabbing at the wall for balance.

Yami Bakura took hold of his shoulders. "Get control of yourself!" he ordered. His voice was rough, but his eyes were concerned. "Sit down." He started to push Bakura into a nearby chair.

The boy sank into it and leaned forward, promptly burying his face in his hands.


	6. Enter Yugitachi

**Chapter Six**

The man did die.

Within an hour news of the murder had spread far and wide, attributing it to the same mysterious assailant who had tried to kill Pete Coppermine. A white rose had been left at the scene, baffling the police. They were currently trying to figure out its significance, but so far had not had any luck.

Bakura was sick to his heart. As soon as it had been announced that the man was dead, he had fled to the nearest restroom. From his pale complexion and the way he had been clutching his abdomen when he came out, Yami Bakura had easy enough guessed that he had been sick to his stomach as well. Bakura had lingered at the hospital to learn the patient's fate, but it was then that Yami Bakura had insisted they go home.

"The man's dead; there's nothing you can do about it," he had said. "Staying here won't help, unless you think you need to check yourself in as a patient now."

Bakura had emphatically shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to stay there.

And so they left, taking the public transportation back to their neighborhood. Bakura picked a place at the far back to sit, staring out the window. Yami Bakura sat next to him, frowning in concern. Bakura had not said a word since coming out of the restroom. But, not really wanting to talk about things with strangers all around, Yami Bakura refrained from talking as well.

Bakura stood up when they reached their stop, still silent, but obviously anxious to get away from all the people. As he and Yami Bakura made their way off the bus and onto the sidewalk, the thief attempted a conversation.

"Do you still feel sick?" he asked, gruffly.

Bakura gave a weak nod.

"Can you make it the rest of the way home?" Yami Bakura grunted.

Again a nod.

Frustrated, Yami Bakura exclaimed, "Can you speak?!"

Bakura paused, then passed a hand over his eyes as his shoulders shook. "Oh Yami . . . I just feel terrible!" he moaned. "Isn't there anything we can do?! We can't let this happen again. We just _can't!_"

Yami Bakura clenched a fist. "I don't know what we could do, aside from finding where he's hiding," he said. "And of course he wouldn't make that easy. He wants to stalk us, not for us to find him. We also can't keep watch over every black-haired person in the city. There's no telling where he might strike next."

"That's why I feel so helpless!" Bakura said. "I can't even come forward with the information of who's attacking people. The police would just think I'm mad and not do a thing!"

He walked ahead a bit, staring at the houses on the block. How many of them held someone with black hair? Any one of them could become a target.

His own friends could be targeted! Some of them had black hair. He stopped again in horror at this realization.

Yami Bakura caught up to him. Before he could speak, Bakura looked to him. "How often did he kill back in London?"

The tomb raider frowned. "There was no set pattern for that," he said. "Sometimes the murders happened each day. Sometimes there were weeks in between the killings."

"How long is he going to toy with us?!" Bakura exclaimed. "He wants me, so why doesn't he come get me?! And now that he knows you're here, he apparently wants you too!"

"Rest assured, he always knows what we're doing," Yami Bakura said. "He'll come when he pleases. And I don't doubt that it will be soon." He still half-wished it would be very soon. Bakura was a emotional wreck already. Yami Bakura did not want to think about how the boy would change if the killings kept happening.

Bakura was silent again as they resumed their walk. He stared ahead at the trees with remaining leaves and the overcast sky, lost in his thoughts. But at last he spoke.

". . . There was a dog on our street, a little white dog," he said. "I always played with it when I went outside. But one day it disappeared. The owners looked, we looked, our neighbors looked . . . but we never could find it. I wonder now if that horrible man took it for his _collection._"

"I wouldn't doubt it," Yami Bakura said.

"What happened to all those poor creatures?" Bakura said sadly, not really expecting an answer.

Yami Bakura did not give him one, either.

Bakura sighed, digging out his key as they reached their house. ". . . I need to tell Yugi and the others about everything today," he said.

Yami Bakura gave him a hard look. "And how will you feel like doing that?" he retorted.

"Well, to be honest, I don't," Bakura said, going up the walk to the porch. "But Yugi could be in danger. So could Duke Devlin. And Marik's brother and sister, since they've been in Domino. I need to warn them!" Then something else occurred to him and his hand trembled.

"What is it now?" Yami Bakura frowned.

Bakura looked to him. "Yami, has . . . has he ever attacked children?" he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

Now Yami Bakura understood. "You're thinking of Mokuba Kaiba," he said.

Bakura nodded.

Yami Bakura fell silent, thinking. "I don't recall him ever attacking a child," he said. "But it doesn't mean he wouldn't. Don't put anything past him, Bakura. That is very important. Consider that he's willing and able to do _anything._"

Bakura's hand did not steady. "Oh . . . oh my. . . ." He managed to open the door, shaking as he stepped into the living room.

Yami Bakura growled as he followed. "Don't think about that," he said sternly. "Look at yourself! You nearly fainted at the hospital. And you were sick in the restroom, weren't you? You're a nervous wreck."

Bakura collapsed into a chair. "Of course I am!" he said. "I feel responsible for this. I should be able to do something to stop this madness! Instead all I can do is helplessly stand by and do nothing!" His voice dropped. "Just like always. . . ."

Yami Bakura shut and locked the door behind him. "What do you mean?" he asked. He fully expected Bakura to bring up their painful past, but the boy's next words made him freeze in surprise.

"My mother and sister," Bakura mumbled, running a hand over his eyes. "When . . . when my father sat me down and told me about the accident and that they were in the hospital, he . . . he looked ready to cry. I wanted to comfort him, but I was so struck with horror and disbelief that I couldn't do a thing. And . . . and when we were there, saying our last goodbyes . . . I wanted to do something to make them stay here. Neither of them wanted to die! But I . . . I and my father could only watch as they slipped away. . . ." He tried to choke back a sob.

Yami Bakura narrowed his eyes. He sat down on the flat arm of the chair, looking to Bakura. "It's not your fault they died," he said.

"I know," Bakura said. "But I still felt like I should have been able to do something."

Yami Bakura grunted and looked away. "Anyone would feel like that."

Bakura blinked. He was admittedly surprised that Yami Bakura had agreed and not scolded him. He turned to look with questioning eyes, but Yami Bakura was still facing away from him, his arms crossed.

". . . If you feel like you need to call Yugi and the others, you'd better do it," the thief said at last.

Bakura nodded. "I suppose I'd better," he agreed.

Sighing, he picked up the phone and dialed Yugi's number. He shifted impatiently as it rang. Was anyone even home? He waited, tapping his fingers on the other chair arm. Three rings . . . four . . . five . . . six. . . . Maybe he should give up.

But then there was a _click._

"Game Shop," Yugi greeted. He sounded rushed.

"Oh Yugi, hello," Bakura said, trying and failing to sound cheerful.

Yugi was instantly concerned. "Bakura! What's wrong?" he exclaimed.

"Well, frankly, I need to talk with you and the others," Bakura said. "It's very important. Could you come over here?" He did not feel like going out again today, and anyway, he felt that he could handle this situation better if he was at home.

"Of course," Yugi said, sounding surprised. "I'll get them and we'll come right now."

"Good," Bakura said with a weak smile. "Thank you."

In the background, Tristan called, "Does this have something to do with that creep?"

Yugi was embarrassed. "I don't know, Tristan," he said, holding the phone away from his mouth. "He didn't say."

Bakura slumped wearily into the back of the chair. "It doesn't," he said. "Well . . . not in the way Tristan's thinking. Though I do need to tell you why he's here, too. . . ."

Yugi was further embarrassed that Bakura had heard. "Okay," he said, sounding hesitant. From his tone of voice, he wanted to say more, but was not sure how to do so.

Bakura pretended to ignore that. "We'll see you soon," he said.

Yami Bakura grunted.

The teens said goodbye and hung up. Then Bakura sighed again, looking tired. "I hope I don't regret this," he said. Visions of terrible things that could go wrong were dancing through his mind, not the least of which was the possibility of Yami Bakura and Tristan---and probably Joey---all coming to blows.

"I hope not," Yami Bakura said. "You have quite enough stress as it is."

Bakura nodded in agreement.

****

Within twenty minutes there was a knock at the door. Bakura glanced to his Yami inquiringly, but the thief gestured for him to answer it. As soon as Bakura got up to do so, however, Yami Bakura changed his mind. He got up as well, following Bakura to the door. Just in case it was not Yugi and the others at all, and was instead their enemy, he wanted to be prepared.

Both were relieved to varying degrees when Bakura opened the door and saw those who were supposed to be there.

"Hey, Bakura," Yugi said with a smile. He looked to Yami Bakura, but was not sure what to say to him. ". . . Hello," he said at last.

"Hello," said Yami Bakura with a mocking smile, as if to say that he could be civilized when he wanted.

"Thank goodness," Bakura could not help saying. "Please, come in." He held the door open wider, while Yami Bakura stood to the other side, watching the group troop inside. Tristan shot him a dark look, which the grave-robber ignored.

"Wow, Tristan was right," Joey blurted.

"Of course I was right!" Tristan shot back. "They've both got solid bodies. It's crazy."

Yami Bakura sneered. "There's far stranger things than this taking place," he said.

"I know," Tristan said. "Like the fact that Bakura supposedly is letting you stay here."

"I am," Bakura said, "and I'll explain why. You have a right to be upset, Tristan, but I hope you'll hear me out before you protest."

"Fair enough," Tristan said. "But I'd still like to kick him into next week."

"Try it and you may be kicked instead, mortal," Yami Bakura smirked.

"Okay, guys, we really don't need a scene in here," said Téa, regarding Yami Bakura in nervousness.

"We definitely don't," Bakura said. "Please, sit down." He gestured to the couch and chairs.

The four guests sat down on the couch. Yami Bakura perched on the arm of the chair again, while Bakura sat in the main part.

"Tell us about _him_ first," Tristan said, glaring at Yami Bakura.

Bakura sighed. "Very well."

And he did, with Yami Bakura interjecting now and then. It was uncomfortable, to share the events of the night when Yami Bakura's torn spirit had come to Bakura's room, but it had to be done.

Yugi was particularly shocked. "Your spirit was really . . ." He stared at Yami Bakura, who did not look pleased.

"Ripped to shreds," was the flat reply.

Yugi leaned back, stunned. "Then it wasn't just a dream," he said.

All eyes turned to Yugi. "What are you talkin' about, Yug?" Joey asked.

Yugi looked down at his hands. "After Zorc was defeated, I started having this dream," he said. "For a long time I couldn't see who was in it, but later on it finally showed me that it was Thief King Bakura." He looked up again. "His spirit was being torn apart as Zorc was destroyed."

Yami Bakura frowned. "Why would you dream about that?"

"I don't know," Yugi said helplessly. "I can't imagine."

"Why didn't you tell us, man?" Tristan wanted to know.

Yugi shifted. "I wasn't sure what it meant," he said. "I didn't know if I should say anything."

Tristan frowned, still looking suspicious. "So you aren't that Zorc thing," he said, looking to Yami Bakura.

"I am not," Yami Bakura said. _Though that doesn't mean Zorc has not left an impression on me that will never fully depart,_ he thought to himself. _Which isn't a pleasing prospect in the least._ He did not want to be Zorc; he wanted to be himself. He could only cling to the hope that Bakura was right and Zorc was not his true identity.

Joey glanced at Bakura. "And you saved him because . . ."

"Because I couldn't stand to see him suffer," Bakura said. "If you had seen him that night, Joey, I can't believe you wouldn't have done the same." He looked away, feeling a prick of guilt. His words were true, but only partially. He did not, however, want to say that in the darkest part of his heart he had missed the other. That would stir up terrible trouble. And this meeting in general was already doing that.

"Maybe," Joey mumbled. "I guess. . . ." He folded his arms, averting his gaze too.

"And Shadi's the one who gave you your new Ring thing?" Tristan said, still glaring at Yami Bakura. "I find that really hard to believe."

"It's true," Bakura said. "I'm actually the one who spoke with Shadi. Yami wasn't in any condition to talk to anyone." He looked down, wanting to banish the images from his mind but being unable to make them leave. It still horrified him, to remember the agony Yami Bakura had been in that night. And he had knelt there, helpless, only able to watch as the thief had writhed in anguish. . . .

Though it had only been after he had prayed in despair for help that Shadi and that girl had come. . . .

Yami Bakura frowned as he noticed Bakura's turmoil. And he was bored of the discussion anyway. "Enough about this. There's something far more pressing you should know," he said.

"Oh yeah?" Tristan crossed his arms. "And what's that---this thing about the 'white death'? Coming to think about it, the creep that's gone after two people in the last twelve hours is all dressed in white. I heard it on the news."

"That's right!" Téa exclaimed in surprise.

Bakura looked up. "He goes after people with black hair," he said. "Yugi, you're in danger. So are Duke and Ishizu and Rishid. And maybe even Mokuba." He swallowed hard.

Four sets of eyes stared, possibly even more shocked now than before. "Say what?!" Joey cried then, leaping off the couch.

"Bakura, how do you know this?" Téa gasped.

"And you clearly don't have black hair, so why would you even need to worry?" Tristan frowned. "This creep acted like you were in danger."

"He is," Yami Bakura growled.

Bakura gave a solemn nod. ". . . He's obsessed with white hair," he said. "Both Yami and I are in danger, actually."

"Obsessed?!" Téa said in alarm.

"We're being stalked," Bakura said, looking down at his hands. "I'm not entirely certain what he wants to do with us, but he's trying to get us to come to wherever he's living. He has a . . . a 'collection' of white things and wants us to be part of it. . . ."

Yugi's mouth dropped open. "This is awful!" he said. "Bakura, you should go to the police!"

"I can't," Bakura said, the helplessness washing over him once more. "The White Death is supposed to be dead. He was terrorizing London in the 1880s! He even had the Millennium Ring for a time."

"Oh, and I guess your Yami thought that was pretty great," Tristan said.

Yami Bakura snarled, his eyes suddenly dark. "Don't speak of things that you know nothing about," he said.

Tristan got to his feet. "Yeah? Well, I'm not afraid of you," he snapped. "And I don't know what kind of garbage you've been feeding Bakura, but you should just cut it out. He's too nice a guy for your kind."

Yami Bakura stood as well. "You're missing the point," he said. "For once, I am not the enemy. The one with whom you should be concerning yourself is the White Death!"

Bakura leaped up now, as did Yugi and Téa. The tension in the room had grown very strong. This was what Bakura had been afraid would happen if everyone was brought together. He reached out, pushing Yami Bakura and Tristan away from each other as he got in the middle.

"Please don't fight!" he exclaimed. "This is a serious problem." He took a deep breath. "I knew the White Death too . . . when I was a child."

Again everyone stared. "How the heck did you know a nutcase like that?!" Tristan demanded.

"He knew my father," Bakura said. "I don't remember a great deal about that time; I was very young."

Yami Bakura looked to him with crossed arms. So he did not want to mention that he had blocked the experience? It was his decision; as far as Yami Bakura was concerned, none of these people needed to know any of this. Knowing that some of them would be targets of the White Death should be plenty.

". . . Hey Bakura, I just got an idea," Joey spoke. "I really think you need to let the police know something. Maybe you could call them from a phonebooth and not say your name or anything, but just tell them that if they want a clue to this creep, they should look up this White Death guy in . . . wherever he came from."

Bakura blinked in surprise, turning to look at the Brooklyn boy. "That's true, I suppose," he said. "Maybe they would think it was a copycat crime, but at least then they might know a little better what they're dealing with. . . ."

"Yeah!" Joey said. "And then maybe they can get to work catching this creep before anyone else kicks the bucket!"

"It won't be easy," Yami Bakura said. "Most likely he'll use some of his magical items to protect himself."

Joey looked to him in horror. "More freaky magical items?!" he cried, messing up his hair.

"He's been collecting them since the 19th century," Yami Bakura growled. "He may even have an Infinity Item similar to mine. That could be how he sustains physical form."

"Oh, and did Shadi give him one too?" Tristan said. "It looks like he's got a bad habit of handing them out to people who don't deserve them."

"Tristan, please!" Bakura exclaimed. "I'm sure Shadi wouldn't have given one to him." But, he supposed, he did have to wonder. After all, why had Yami Bakura been entrusted with one? Shadi himself had not wanted to give it to him, but those higher in rank than he had commanded it. Still, Yami Bakura was a strong man in both body and spirit, a worthwhile warrior in battle. As far as Bakura could tell, the White Death was not. Though Bakura could be biased because of his deep distaste of the wicked person. He was to be pitied, Bakura imagined; his mind was surely gone.

"Well, after he gave one to this creep who tried to destroy the whole world, I don't think I trust him too much any more." Tristan glowered at Yami Bakura, who glared right back. "Bakura, I can't believe you're really letting him stay here and even trusting him! After everything he did to you. . . ."

"Sometimes I can't believe it, either," Bakura said. "But Tristan, there's something you have to remember---he was a victim too. Zorc was a parasite, leeching off of his spirit!" He sighed. "I know that doesn't mean that he himself didn't have any involvement in what happened. He did, of course. But people can change. If nothing else, he knows that if he acts up, he won't be able to access the Infinity Ring's powers."

"Maybe I'd be more willing to believe this if he'd stand up for himself instead of letting you defend him," Tristan said.

"Oh, but he's doing such a wonderful job," Yami Bakura said with a dark sneer.

"He's standing right here!" Tristan exclaimed.

"So am I," Yami Bakura retorted.

Bakura slumped back, covering his face with one hand. "Oh dear . . ." he whispered.

"Guys, please!" Yugi interjected. He had gotten a look at Bakura's increasingly pale complexion before he had concealed it. This was too much stress for him on top of everything else.

Yami Bakura growled. "Bakura only called you here because he was concerned for your safety," he said, looking to the overwhelmed teen. "He really would have preferred not to deal with this right now."

"Yeah? Well, I'm just upset because I'm concerned for _his_ safety," Tristan shot back.

"I realize that." Bakura took his hand away from his face, trying to smile. "I appreciate it, Tristan, and I do understand your concerns. . . ." He was starting to feel like a broken record. "But I have to say, I really know that I know what I'm doing. I don't know how to explain it to you, Tristan, especially not without sounding like a naive fool . . . but I know he won't hurt me."

Tristan just rocked back, staring at Bakura in disbelief. "He's got you under some kind of spell," he said. "He has to; that's the only explanation that makes sense."

"Believe what you want," Yami Bakura said. He had long ago grown tired of this confrontation. Now he just crossed his arms, bored and annoyed.

Yugi took a deep breath. "I know this isn't what you want to hear right now, Tristan, but I think we need to back off and give them some space," he said. "Bakura's been going through a lot because of this White Death person. He just needs to relax and not have to worry about us fighting here in his house."

Now Tristan stared at him. "But Yugi . . . you know what this guy's done!" he said, pointing at Yami Bakura.

Joey was staring too. "Yugi, don't tell me you trust him," he exclaimed.

"No," Yugi admitted, "I don't. But I trust Bakura." He smiled at the white-haired boy. "He needs our confidence."

Bakura managed a weak smile back. "Thank you," he said.

Téa looked worried, but she nodded. "Yugi's right," she said. "I trust you too, Bakura."

Joey looked like he wanted to retort. Instead his shoulders slumped and he sighed. "I can't believe you'd jump into this without giving it a lot of thought," he said to Bakura. "So I guess you already know about all the risks. There's not much we can say to change your mind."

"No, I'm afraid not," Bakura said. "If he does try to go back to his old tricks, I'll put my foot down. But I'm trusting that he won't be that foolish. It's in his own best interest to cooperate."

Yugi nodded. "Thanks for bringing us out here to tell us these things, Bakura," he said. "As soon as we leave here, I'll see that the others are told about the White Death."

Bakura looked relieved and grateful. "I hope he won't go after anyone else, but we can't take any chances," he said.

"You've got that right," Yugi said. "Well . . . we'll get out of your way now." He smiled, then headed for the door.

"Let us know if anything happens," Téa said in concern as she moved to follow.

"I will if I can," Bakura said, again with the weak smile. He was afraid that if something happened, he would not have any chance to contact them.

"You keep this guy in line, alright?" Joey said, smirking at Yami Bakura.

Bakura weakly chuckled. "Oh, I do my best," he said. "But you have been a good sport about things, haven't you, Yami?"

Yami Bakura just sneered. "I can keep myself well-behaved when I so choose," he said.

Joey shook his head. "Whatever."

Tristan frowned. "I'll be keeping my eye on you," he said low as he walked past. "Bakura might be willing to give you a chance, but I'm not. I hate you for everything you've done to us . . . to him . . . to _me._"

"Ah, I thought so," Yami Bakura answered, keeping his own voice to a minimum. "This isn't just about Bakura, so don't pretend you're acting solely on his behalf. Perhaps you're even partially using him as an excuse when what you're truly after is your own personal quest of satisfaction."

Tristan's eyes widened. But then his visage twisted in anger and disgust. "Don't pretend you can tell what's going on in my head," he snapped.

"What makes you think I'm pretending, or indeed, that I would have any need to do so? You said what was going on in your head," Yami Bakura returned.

"I didn't say _that._" Tristan glowered. "And I'm not even going to try to justify myself to you.

"See you, Bakura," he called as he stepped onto the porch.

"Goodbye Tristan," Bakura called back. He walked to the doorway to see them off. "Yugi, Téa, Joey. . . ."

They all waved as they headed down the path. Bakura waited until they reached the sidewalk and were past the house, then shut the door. He groaned, slumping against it as he ran a hand over his face.

"That went very poorly," he said.

"You knew it would," Yami Bakura said. "It could have been worse."

"I suppose." Bakura stared up at the ceiling. "But at this point, I'm not sure I know how."


	7. Thanksgiving

**Notes: This story is part of my new main timeline. If you want to read in detail how it began, I leave a reminder to investigate **_**The Pendulum Swings **_**and **_**Adventures in Thief-Sitting.**_

**Chapter Seven**

The White Death remained ominously silent for the next few days. And though Bakura had followed up on Joey's suggestion and anonymously called the police, he did not know if anything was coming of it. All of that only put Bakura and Yami Bakura more on edge than ever, wondering when the White Death would strike next. But inspite of the agony of not knowing where the wretch was or what he was doing, Bakura had to hope that they would not hear any more from him until after Thanksgiving.

The holiday dawned partly cloudy and without any reports of people being attacked by a man in white. Yami Bakura was up early, anxious to get started on the food. He had been fascinated by the American celebration ever since he had first learned about it. _"A day set aside solely to eat, particularly meat? So there is still feasting in the modern world,"_ he had commented to Bakura that year. This year, with both of them able to exist in separate forms, he intended to make the most of the day, even with the threat of the White Death looming over them.

Bakura could not help but be amused by the thief's interest. But he felt somewhat melancholy as he set about getting the thawed turkey ready to be put in the oven. He had not heard from his father since the conversation when Bakura had asked about the man's college roommate. Would he even come home for the holiday? He usually tried to, it was true, but there had been times when he had not been able to make it. One year Bakura had been invited to dinner with Yugi and his family, which had meant a great deal to him. Other years he had been alone. He had welcomed Yami Bakura's presence then.

"What's bothering you now?" Yami Bakura broke into his thoughts.

Bakura started and looked up. "I was just thinking about my father," he said. "Wondering if he'll be here. . . ." He sighed. "Holidays have never been the same for us since Mother and Amane . . ." He trailed off.

Yami Bakura grunted. He did not think much of Bakura's father, always gone the way he was, but he would not say anything against the man today. Nor would he offer an opinion on if he thought Mr. Bakura would arrive. He was inclined to think not.

"Well . . ." Bakura placed the turkey in the oven and straightened up. "When it's closer to being done, could you make the gravy, Yami?" He hoped to make the most out of the holiday himself. It was certainly promising to be an interesting one.

"Of course I can make the gravy," Yami Bakura said. "But it had better taste sufficiently like meat."

"It should be fine," Bakura said. ". . . Yami, I don't like that look in your eye."

Yami Bakura smirked. "Don't worry," he said.

"I have this feeling that I should," Bakura said.

The day proceeded in peace as they put together the rest of the dinner, baking potatoes and yams, making dressing, and at Yami Bakura's insistence, bringing out garlic and onions. Bakura, surprised that he would be interested in any kind of vegetable or herb, agreed.

As Yami Bakura stirred the gravy towards afternoon, he suddenly lifted the spoon and licked off the contents. "It's not seasoned enough," he muttered.

That was when he noticed a jar on the shelf above him. "Hmm," he mused to himself, taking it down with one hand. "This looks interesting." He gave the label a searching glance as he resumed stirring the gravy. Then, with a smirk, he pulled out two small objects and dropped them into the saucepan. He mixed them through the bubbling substance as they dissolved.

Again he took a taste. He smirked more, pleased with his creation. "Perfect," he declared.

Bakura never noticed. He was far too occupied with the sound of the door opening. Hope rising in his eyes, he hurried into the living room. "Father!" he exclaimed joyously.

The blue-haired man smiled at his son as he entered, shutting the door behind him. "Happy Thanksgiving, Ryou," he said. He blinked in surprise. "It smells like the food is almost done."

Bakura nodded. "You're just in time," he said. "Yami was finishing making the gravy. . . ." He had slipped into the habit of calling the thief "Yami" even in front of Mr. Bakura, and though Mr. Bakura was puzzled, he just shook his head and accepted it. There was not much else he could do.

A look of concern came over Mr. Bakura's features. "The thief is making gravy?" he repeated, feeling his insides knot.

"Yes. . . ." Bakura looked back to the kitchen, where Yami Bakura had left the gravy to set and thicken. "He promised to be good. . . ." But from the character's satisfied smirk, Bakura had to wonder exactly what he had been doing to the gravy before leaving it to set.

Mr. Bakura set his briefcase on the floor. "Well, I'll . . . go wash up for dinner," he said, heading down the hall.

Bakura watched him go, then ran into the kitchen. "Yami!" he called, his eyes bright. "Father's here! He did come!"

"I heard," Yami Bakura said, opening the oven to peer in at the turkey.

Bakura went over to him. "It's alright if he carves the turkey, isn't it, Yami?" he said. "I mean, him being the man of the house and all. . . ."

"Fine, fine," Yami Bakura said. He could care less who carved the turkey; he just wanted to eat it.

Bakura sighed softly. "I know the two of you don't like each other much," he said, "but I hope you can get along today. . . ."

Yami Bakura straightened, looking to him. "I don't intend to start anything," he said. "It's good that he's here, if that makes you happy."

Bakura smiled again. "It's not like it used to be," he said, "but it's still good to have him home."

At last Yami Bakura nodded. This was not the time to go into a rant about what he really thought of the other man's incessant traveling. But he would have given anything to have his own family back after the massacre. Not all of Mr. Bakura's family had been killed in the car crash, yet the man was rarely around for his son. It infuriated the thief that Mr. Bakura did not really seem grateful for what he had.

"Get the table set," he said. "I'll bring out the turkey."

Bakura happily nodded as he opened the cupboard.

****

Yami Bakura's manners were atrocious, as always. As soon as the turkey was cut and on his plate, he stared at it with greedy eyes. But then he reached across the table for the gravy boat.

Bakura groaned. "Yami, you're supposed to ask for the nearest person to pass the gravy to you," he said.

"No one was near it," Yami Bakura returned. He poured the gravy over the turkey, potato, and dressing, then handed the boat to Bakura.

Mr. Bakura just shook his head and sat down. This was going to be a very strange dinner indeed.

"What's in this gravy?!" he gasped a few minutes later.

Bakura blinked. "What do you mean, Father?" he asked. But as he tried some, he gasped. "It's hot!" he choked out, grabbing for the water pitcher.

Mr. Bakura glared at Yami Bakura, who was tearing into his food and not seeming to find anything odd at all. "You're the one who made this," he said. "What's in it?!"

Yami Bakura looked up, licking his lips. "It was too dull," he said. "I added two of those cubes up there."

Bakura looked to where Yami Bakura was pointing. "Oh. Bouillon," he said meekly.

Yami Bakura smirked, diving into the meat again.

Mr. Bakura shook his head in disbelief. "Bouillon cubes in store-bought gravy?" he said. "It's already seasoned."

Bakura gave a weak smile. "Maybe if we just don't use too much?" he suggested. "It's really not bad, I suppose. . . ."

". . . No," Mr. Bakura conceded, "I guess not." And, he decided, more ice cubes for the water pitcher would not be bad, either.

He glanced at Bakura as he took a roll from the basket in the center of the table. Feeling the gaze upon him, the brown-eyed boy looked up in confusion. "What is it, Father?" he asked.

Mr. Bakura froze. "Oh . . . it's nothing," he said, and picked up the knife to cut open the roll. "Nothing at all."

Bakura shrugged, still confused, and returned to his food.

Yami Bakura, observing the exchange, just narrowed his eyes.

****

Despite the spicy gravy and Yami Bakura's horrendous table manners, they had a good meal. Mr. Bakura continued to seem awkward somehow, as if he wanted to say something but did not know how to get into it. Both Bakura and Yami Bakura noticed, although when Bakura tried once more to learn the explanation, his father denied that he had anything in mind.

Bakura began to worry. What if his father wanted to tell him to ask Yami Bakura to leave? He could not do that. And he really did not want to, either. They were just settling into this arrangement. It had been a comfort before this White Death business had started and it was even more of one now that they had the serial killer to deal with. The thought of being alone again now was almost more than he could bear. It was all he could do not to blurt out in desperation and demand to know what was going on in his father's mind.

As the dishes were cleared and taken to the counter, Mr. Bakura caught hold of Yami Bakura's arm. "Thief, I need to talk to you," he said, keeping his voice low.

Yami Bakura grunted. "So you wouldn't tell your son, but you'll tell me," he said.

Mr. Bakura just glared as he led the other into the living room. "You're with Ryou every day," he said. "Has he ever said anything about a man I knew from college? A man who was obsessed with white?"

Yami Bakura wanted to sarcastically ask if he had not been watching the news lately. Instead he returned, "Why do you ask?"

Mr. Bakura frowned, crossing his arms. "Ryou asked me about him the other day," he said. "It's been bothering me ever since. I'd rather not confide in you, but . . . something horrible happened to him when he was a child, thanks to that person. He's blocked out all memories of that man for years. It worries me if he's starting to remember now."

Yami Bakura narrowed his eyes. "What happened to him?" he demanded.

Mr. Bakura shook his head. "You might not believe it," he said. "I could hardly believe it myself, but I knew Ryou would not have become so traumatized if he wasn't telling the truth." He glanced to the kitchen, where Bakura had busied himself washing the dishes. The water in the sink was much too loud for him to hear their lowered conversation, but Mr. Bakura took the thief to the den anyway. Then he shut the door, leaning against it.

Yami Bakura crossed his arms in the new room. "You might be surprised what I would believe," he said, returning to their conversation.

Mr. Bakura peered at him. "Did Ryou tell you?"

"Not much," Yami Bakura said. "He's only remembering bits and pieces."

Mr. Bakura sighed. ". . . This man, Tuomas, was very interested in Ryou," he said. "He claimed he saw Ryou as a nephew and I didn't think anything of it. My wife Ayoko never liked him, but I thought she was overreacting at first. I did, however, think something seemed slightly strange as time passed. He was always wanting to take Ryou places and talking about his white hair. He seemed obsessed with knowing how it was possible for him to have such 'amazing, rare hair', as he put it. I finally decided maybe Ayoko was right. Trying not to hurt my friend's feelings, I made our family scarce. It seemed to work for a while."

He walked away from the door, going over to his desk. "One day I had an important meeting at the London museum. Ryou had a dentist appointment, but Ayoko couldn't take him because our daughter Amane had come down with the flu and needed to stay at home. I couldn't get out of the meeting, so I called on my college friend for one more favor." A haunted look passed through his eyes. "It's one of the things I regret most in my life."

Yami Bakura had been listening quietly. He watched with narrowed eyes, waiting for the museum director to continue.

"They were gone much too long. Ayoko called me three hours later in a panic, saying that she'd called the dentist's office and found out they had left two hours ago. She'd tried repeatedly to get hold of my friend on his cellphone, without success." Mr. Bakura clenched a fist. "I knew then that I'd made a horrible mistake.

"Without telling Ayoko what I had in mind, I drove to Tuomas's house. He had always wanted Ryou to visit him, but it had never come to pass before. I had a feeling they might have gone there.

"When I arrived, everything seemed peaceful and unassuming. I was just getting out of the car and planning to go knock on the door when Ryou came running from around the side of the house." He looked Yami Bakura in the eyes. "He was scratched and cut and crying uncontrollably. He was in a panic. I tried to find out from him what had happened, but I could barely understand him through his sobs. At last I made out 'The closet! It was in the closet!'"

Yami Bakura growled. "There was a person in the closet, wasn't there?" he said.

Mr. Bakura blinked. "Yes," he said. "But when Ryou calmed enough to describe the person's state . . ." Again he looked haunted, as if the incident had just happened yesterday. "That was what I could hardly believe." And he related to the thief what Bakura had told him those many years ago. His voice broke as he thought of Bakura trying to escape that hellish place and discovering that incomprehensible sight. Fury and outrage began to take hold of his heart now as they had then at the remembered knowledge of how Tuomas had betrayed them.

Yami Bakura gripped his arms. He hated the White Death even more now that he knew this was true. "It's as I suspected then," he said at the conclusion.

"You suspected it?!" Mr. Bakura said, incredulous. "How could you suspect or even think that something this abominable could be true? How would it even cross your mind?"

Yami Bakura grunted. "Let's just say I met your 'friend' too, long ago."

Mr. Bakura frowned. "How?"

"He collected old magical items. My spirit happened to be sealed in one." Yami Bakura brushed it aside. "What did you do then?"

"Tuomas came out of the house and was shocked to see me there. I confronted him on what Ryou said and he denied it. I told him I was going to have him arrested. That was when he went ballistic. He tried to kill me and take Ryou from me. I rendered him unconscious and fled with Ryou." Mr. Bakura gave a weary sigh, shaking his head.

"By the time I was able to call the police and they went to the house, the man had completely vanished. All that they found was an empty building. Though they searched far and wide, they never found any trace of him or this sick . . . 'collection' of his.

"Ryou had fallen asleep in my arms sometime after I called the police. When he woke up, he couldn't remember any of what had happened. I and Ayoko decided that was best. We all left England and never spoke of that wretch again." He shook his head. "I don't think Ayoko ever forgave me. But I've never forgiven myself either."

He looked to Yami Bakura again. "Do you know why Ryou has started to remember?"

"Yes," Yami Bakura said. "Your 'friend' has resurfaced and is stalking Bakura. He's called on the phone, sent a note, and left a white rose on the porch. He's pestering Bakura to come live with him." His eyes narrowed. "He's a serial killer known as the White Death. He's already attacked two people in town, both with black hair."

Mr. Bakura had gone sheet-white. He gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles soon matching the ghostly cast to his face. "Oh no," he gasped. "Oh no. . . ." He swayed, but caught himself.

Yami Bakura was unmoved by the display. "I won't let anything happen to Bakura," he continued. "But I'm going to be blunt. You should be here for him too. Your place is here, with your son---not chasing artifacts all over the world. What good are they to you in the end? You can't restore the dead with them. And meanwhile, you're pushing away the only family you have left."

Mr. Bakura straightened, his eyes narrowed. "I have to do my work," he said. "Ryou understands that I'm here when I can be."

"Bah! You're not traveling because of work," Yami Bakura said. "You're running away. I've observed you for years, ever since Bakura came into possession of the Millennium Ring, and it's quite obvious. Bakura is far more patient and long-suffering with your absence than he should be. Perhaps if he spoke out more you would pay attention."

Mr. Bakura was not pleased. "I don't have to discuss this with you, Thief," he said. "I brought you here to talk about my son, not me." He went over to Yami Bakura. "And I want to know everything about what's been happening the last few days."

"Go read the newspaper," Yami Bakura said in disgust. With that he turned, storming out of the den.

The water was no longer running in the kitchen. He frowned, going back down the hall to peer into the room. Most of the dishes were still on the counter, unwashed. But the room was empty; Bakura was not there.

Yami Bakura looked back to the rest of the house. "Bakura?" he called. He ascended the stairs, glancing in the direction of the boy's room as he reached the top. The light was off, but the door was open---just as it had been all day. He walked to the doorway, peering inside.

Bakura was sitting on his bed, his knees drawn up to his chest. He looked up at Yami Bakura with eyes full of dread. "Father wants to send you away, doesn't he?" he said. "That's why he's acting so strange."

Yami Bakura was stunned. That was why Bakura was upset? He walked further into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Bakura. "No," he said. "That isn't what he wants." Well, maybe it was, especially after their parting words, but there was no point mentioning that and worrying Bakura when it might not be true.

Bakura blinked. "What then?" he wanted to know.

For a moment Yami Bakura was silent. "He's been concerned about you," he said at last. "He was telling me about your past with the White Death."

Bakura stiffened. "So he knew, then?" he said. "He knew what I blocked out?"

"At least in part," Yami Bakura said. "It's nothing that really surprised me, since I've seen how the White Death operates."

Bakura grabbed hold of Yami Bakura's upper arm. "Tell me!" he pleaded.

Yami Bakura frowned. "I thought you didn't want to know," he said.

"I don't," Bakura said, "and yet it's been driving me mad! So . . . part of me does want to know."

Yami Bakura stared ahead at the floor. "You couldn't even recollect what was in the closet when you starting remembering that incident," he said. "If I tell you what you saw, how will it affect you?"

Bakura shuddered. "I . . . I don't know," he admitted.

"And on the other hand . . . in order to be prepared for a worst-case scenario in the future, you really should know," Yami Bakura mused. He looked to the boy again. "Do you think you can handle it?"

"I . . ." Bakura swallowed and looked down. "I don't know." He shuddered again, involuntarily. "Maybe . . ." He met Yami Bakura's searching gaze. "Maybe I'd rather wait a bit longer."

Yami Bakura nodded. He had half-expected that response. "Fine," he growled. "But you will need to know eventually."

"I know. . . ." Bakura managed a wry smile. "I didn't finish the dishes," he said ruefully. "They'll be all stuck on."

Yami Bakura grunted. "They can wait," he said. "Unless you want to take care of them now."

"I probably should," Bakura said slowly.

"Let's go then," Yami Bakura said, getting off the bed. "I'll dry them."

Bakura looked to him in surprise. "Really?"

Yami Bakura muttered something unintelligible.

Bakura stood now as well, his smile growing. "I'm glad Father isn't trying to send you away, Yami," he said.

Yami Bakura just glanced at him. "You want help with the dishes that badly?"

"Well, it certainly doesn't hurt," Bakura half-teased. "It gets lonely washing them all by myself."

Downstairs, Mr. Bakura peered out of the den as the two headed down the steps and into the kitchen. It was strange, he thought to himself. In spite of this horrible nightmare coming back from Ryou's past, he looked happier now than Mr. Bakura had seen him in some time.

"Thief . . . I still don't know what to think of you," he said to himself. "Your speech is rough and your manners are worse. Were you chewing on the _gizzard_ at dinner?!

"And you're also blunt." He crossed his arms. "No one else has ever dared to say what you said to me, if it even crossed their minds in the first place. You felt very strongly about what you said. And inspite of myself . . . I have the strangest feeling I know why.

"You really care about my son," he said in awe. "And Ryou . . . he cares about you, too.

"You'll keep Ryou safe. But . . . I won't leave him now. I could never leave with this hanging over Ryou's head." His eyes narrowed. "Tuomas is going to regret ever coming back into our lives. I warned him almost thirteen years ago to stay away from Ryou. I'll make good on my vow."

He turned away from the door.

****

The following morning, the White Death started killing again.


	8. Black Friday

**Notes: Being that this is part of my main timeline, whereas **_**Lead Me Through the Fire**_** is a timeline unto itself, David is alive and well here. He and Duke, however, likely have a different backstory. For those who have not read **_**Lead Me Through the Fire**_**, David is a real character on the show, albeit unnamed. He speaks with Duke in episode 46.**

**Chapter Eight**

"Tell me again why we're coming here, particularly at the break of dawn on the day you mortals call 'Black Friday.'"

Bakura gave a quiet sigh at his Yami's annoyance. "Because Yugi and the others weren't able to get in touch with Duke," he said as they walked down the cold and mostly dark Domino streets. "And after the news of this latest murder, we can't let it go on any longer. We have to make sure he knows."

Yami Bakura grunted, shoving his hands in his pockets as they approached the Black Crown game store. "I'm sure he knows," he said. "How could he not have heard?"

"He probably has," Bakura conceded. "But I'd feel better if we made sure."

"Maybe we won't be able to see him, either," Yami Bakura pointed out. "I'm sure Yugi and his little friends tried coming here."

"Well, there's no harm in trying again," Bakura said.

As he and Yami Bakura passed under the building's shadow and went through the electronic doors, a conversation from the direction of the counter became audible.

"'Third Victim of the Killer in White Dead.'"

The tall man behind the counter adjusted his glasses, frowning at the newspaper. Duke Devlin leaned against the front of the glass display case, crossing one arm over his chest as he toyed with a pair of dice in his hand.

"He had black hair, of course." The man, who looked to be college-age, waved the paper at him. "Aren't you worried?"

The boy took the paper, glancing over the article. "Not really," he said. "Do you know how many black-haired people there are in town? And both of the guys who died were nobodies. I don't think I'll be targeted just because I'm famous."

"Everyone with black hair in this city is a target," said the other. "You have as much of a chance of getting attacked as anyone else. The first guy who got assaulted was a well-known card professor."

"I know that." Duke stared off into the distance. "I just mean what you said---there's as much of a chance that I'd be attacked as any other black-haired person in Domino. And since there's so many, I have a hard time believing I'd be the one chosen."

"You never know. And . . . hmm, what's this?" The man at the counter looked up, for the first time noticing the duo who had entered. "Duke, we have an audience."

Duke looked over too, twirling a piece of hair around his finger. "Bakura?" he said in surprise. But his jaw dropped in astonishment to see the one with his friend.

Bakura managed a weak smile. "Hello, Duke," he said with a small wave.

Yami Bakura folded his arms and said nothing.

Duke pushed himself away from the counter, going over to them. "What's going on?" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?!" He regarded Yami Bakura in suspicion.

"Right now I'm wondering that myself," Yami Bakura said.

"But Yugi said you were destroyed," Duke countered.

"Clearly, I was not," Yami Bakura said.

"And you have a _body,_" Duke said. Curiosity got the better of him and he reached out, trying to poke Yami Bakura on the shoulder.

The thief responded by grabbing his wrist and holding it away from him. "Yes, and if you're not careful, you'll discover how I can use it to fight off imbeciles," he said.

Duke jerked his wrist out of Yami Bakura's grasp. "Alright already!" he said. "No hard feelings. I don't think." But he frowned. "I would like to know what you're doing here in Domino, though." He looked to Bakura. "And why you seem to be so okay with it." He himself, not having had as many direct dealings with the character, was definitely more willing to accept his presence than Tristan was. He was, however, still on edge. After all, one did not easily forget the sorts of things he had been told about Yami Bakura.

"It's quite a long story," Bakura said, scratching his cheek in embarrassment. "But we actually came here to warn you about the White Death. . . ."

"Oh, this guy?" Duke held up the newspaper, his attention diverted from the matter of Yami Bakura's resurrection. "They've been calling him the Killer in White."

"Either the police haven't dug into the past as Bakura told them to do or they have but refuse to believe," Yami Bakura grunted, mostly to himself.

Duke was bewildered. "Would someone like to explain what's going on here?" he said, his hands going to his hips. "What about the past? And why do you guys seem to know about this jerk?"

"Store managers would like to know too," piped up the forgotten man at the counter.

"Don't you have a store to run, Tanaka?" Duke said, looking over his shoulder.

The one addressed as Tanaka shrugged. "It's slow right now," he said. "Have a heart, Dukey-boy."

"'Dukey-boy'?" Bakura blinked in surprise. Then he had to turn away, covering his mouth as he chuckled. That was not something he had expected to hear!

Duke rolled his eyes. "David Tanaka, the next Pegasus wanna-be," he said.

Yami Bakura looked bored. "As long as you know you're quite possibly under attack, that's all you need to know," he said. "Yugi can tell you the rest, if you absolutely must know." He glanced to Bakura. "Let's go."

Bakura hesitated, sobered now. "Duke, you really are in danger," he said. He reached out, grabbing Duke's shoulder. "Please! Promise me you'll be careful!" He stared into Duke's surprised emerald eyes, his own brown eyes filled with fear and dread. His hand trembled.

At last Duke gave a slow nod. "Sure, Bakura, I'll be careful," he said. "I've never seen you like this." He frowned in concern.

Bakura sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Well . . . there's never been a situation like this before," he said. "I don't know . . . I just feel so lost. . . ." He let his hand drop. "We were trying to locate this madman before anyone else got hurt, but we failed. Now someone else is dead!"

Yami Bakura growled. "I told you he wouldn't let us find him," he said.

"I know . . . but I was still hoping . . ." Bakura stepped back, trying to smile. "Anyway . . . I feel a little better, knowing you know about this now. We'll let you get back to running your store. Goodbye. . . ." He turned with a wave, Yami Bakura following without a word.

"Goodbye. . . ." Duke stared after them, his arms crossed. "That was really weird," he said.

"You're telling me," David spoke up from behind him. "What was that all about? And who was the guy who looked like an older, crusty version of your friend?"

Duke half-turned, giving his manager a side-long look. "Would you believe a three-thousand-year-old tomb-robber?" he said.

David looked back, deadpan. "Hmmm. Not really," he said.

Duke shrugged. "Then there's no point talking about it. We're going to get a slew of customers today." He glanced out the glass door. "And here they come, right on schedule." He stepped aside, not wanting to be in the way when they barreled through the entrance.

David shrugged too. "Have it your way," he said, half to himself.

****

Yami Bakura did not feel at peace as they departed the Black Crown. He kept his hands shoved in his pockets, glowering at the crowds making their way through the doors. His eyes burned as the wheels turned in his head.

Bakura looked to him, growing uneasy as well. "Yami?" he asked. "What is it?" He had thought things had gone as well as they probably could under the circumstances, but if Yami Bakura's storm cloud visage was any indication, he disagreed.

"Why is this day called Black Friday?" Yami Bakura inquired without warning.

Bakura stared at him. That, of all things, was what was on his mind?!

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I . . ." He blinked. "You know, I'm actually not sure. I wonder if it's because of how wild and rambunctious the crowds can get."

Yami Bakura growled. "I can't believe the White Death wouldn't take great advantage of a day known as _Black_ Friday," he said.

The color drained from Bakura's face. "Yami, what are you saying?!" he gasped.

"What do you think?!" Yami Bakura retorted. "I'm saying that I don't think the man killed this morning will be the only fatality of this day. The White Death will likely kill some more people, too! In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he does it in such a way to make a bigger statement than before. Perhaps he'll find a way to kill someone in a crowd instead of someone out of the way."

Bakura swayed. He had never considered any of that! What on earth was wrong with him? He should have thought about the likelihood of Black Friday being a target for the White Death! And it was horrible enough to have to worry about just one person being a target per day. Now there was a strong chance that there would be more?!

"Oh . . . oh my . . ." He grabbed in vain for something to steady himself.

Yami Bakura caught hold of his arm, drawing his other arm around the boy's shoulders. "I know you still believe everything is your fault, but you have to stop it," he growled. "You're making yourself sick and it doesn't help anyone!"

Bakura covered his eyes with his other hand. "I know," he said sadly. "But it really does feel like my fault, Yami. It would be horrible for a serial killer to be at large in any case, yet when he's here for me, can't you see how that would make me feel?"

Yami Bakura looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Even if I can understand, that doesn't make it any more true," he said. He kept his arm around Bakura's shoulders as they walked, not certain if the boy would be able to balance if he let go.

"Foolish mortal," he grumbled. "It isn't your fault. The White Death has his own mind. If he wants to come after you, he comes. It's not as if you're encouraging him."

"In a way I am," Bakura said. "It's my white hair that's brought him here. . . . If it was just another color. . . ."

Yami Bakura's expression twisted in disgust and frustration. "You're hopeless," he said. "Your hair is white because you were destined to be the modern-day bearer of the Millennium Ring, my counterpart. And though I was the original, I don't intend to sit around blaming myself for these murders because of my hair!"

Bakura pulled away from him, his patience suddenly frayed. "Would you blame yourself for a death for any reason?" he exclaimed. "Or would you just not care?!"

Yami Bakura glowered. "That is uncalled-for and irrelevant right now," he said. "But if you must know, yes, even the likes of I have blamed myself for people's deaths." He averted his gaze. ". . . However, that was a long time ago. If you mean would I blame myself for someone's death today . . . well, it would all depend on the circumstances, of course. And on the person."

Bakura looked at him, taken aback. "Yami . . . I'm sorry," he said, subdued now. ". . . I'm ashamed to admit that sometimes I still have trouble seeing you as human. After so long of seeing you as mostly, well . . ."

"A monster? You can say it." Yami Bakura stared ahead. "Was Zorc the monster, or was it I? Or was it both of us, interchangeably?" He looked to Bakura. "I can't tell you the answer to that. But I know I'm not a human. And I have to warn you, Bakura---I can't promise I won't behave like a monster when the time comes that we go up against the White Death."

Bakura swallowed hard. "I don't want to see that," he said.

Yami Bakura looked away again. "Chances are, you won't," he said. _For if I lose complete control . . . it will be because he's done something to you. And I won't forgive myself if he does._

It angered and frustrated him that he did not understand why he felt that way. All he really knew was that he did. If the White Death harmed Bakura in any way, then he would face a wrath that no one with even a spark of sense would want to ignite. And Yami Bakura would enjoy taking him down. Well, he would enjoy it anyway, to be rid of such a foul threat

Bakura stared at the ground. He could not sense his Yami's thoughts, but he felt a shadow of the heavy burden the other bore. And somehow, it made him feel like crying.

"You were a human once," he said then, trying to smile. "And you still look it. I don't think just having been a spirit would mean you aren't a human any longer."

Yami Bakura grunted. "You remember how the Millennium Scales reveal the true nature of the soul," he said.

Bakura gave an uneasy nod. "Yes. . . ."

"Mine would be the most abominable monstrosity imaginable," Yami Bakura said. "Perhaps worse than Zorc."

Now the tears did prick Bakura's eyes, though he was not sure he fathomed the reason. "No," he said. "I won't believe that."

A dry laugh. "You just said you have a difficult time seeing me as human," Yami Bakura said.

"Yes, but . . ." The right words came to Bakura then and he looked at the stunned thief with a smile that was now genuine. "That doesn't make it any less true."

****

The overcast day passed slowly, with clouds of unease hanging over many hearts. As night fell without news of any more attacks, both Yami Bakura and Bakura grew more and more edgy.

"Something could happen at any time!" Bakura exclaimed, wringing his hands. "What are we going to do?!"

Yami Bakura grunted. He was sitting on the couch, his arms crossed and his legs stretched out in front of him. "Would it make you feel better if we walked around Domino City aimlessly, looking for anyone who might become his target tonight?" he said as he watched Bakura pace around the living room.

Bakura stopped and looked to him. "Well . . . yes," he said, "maybe. . . ." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'd like it better than just staying home twiddling thumbs and wearing down the carpet!"

Yami Bakura pushed himself off the couch. "Then let's go," he said.

Bakura blinked, surprised that the thief had not just been sarcastic. "Alright," he said, going to the coat rack. But then he paused again. "We should tell Father. . . ."

"Do what you want," Yami Bakura said as he took down his black trenchcoat and pulled his arms into the sleeves.

Bakura nodded and went down the hall to the half-open door of the den. "Father?" he called, softly knocking at the same time. "Yami and I are going out for a bit."

Mr. Bakura jerked to attention from where he was sitting at his desk. "Didn't you go out this morning?" he exclaimed.

Bakura shifted. "Well, yes . . ." he said. "But it's such a nice night and it's supposed to snow. . . ."

Mr. Bakura sighed, glancing to the clock. "Don't be gone late," he said. "There's no telling where Tuomas is. He could follow you all around the city!"

Bakura had come to him late the previous night, admitting the truth of being stalked by their former friend-turned-enemy. He had wanted to personally tell his father about it, once he had known that the man was aware of the problem. Mr. Bakura had pleaded with him to be careful and had promised to stay until the killer was caught, for which Bakura was both surprised and grateful.

And what Mr. Bakura really wanted was to help catch Tuomas himself. All day long he had been trying to learn where the White Death was hiding, to no avail. Now he looked exhausted.

Bakura smiled at him. "We'll keep in touch, Father," he said. "I have my cellphone."

"That's one good thing." Mr. Bakura looked to his own phone on the desk. "I guess the thief doesn't have one, just in case you need a backup. . . ."

Bakura shook his head. "I was thinking it might be a good idea to get him a phone on our plan," he said.

Mr. Bakura nodded. "I'll look into it," he said.

Bakura nodded too. "Thank you, Father," he said. "I suppose I should go. . . . He'll be impatient."

Even as he spoke, Yami Bakura stepped to the head of the hall, looking irritated. He stood with folded arms, staring at Bakura.

Mr. Bakura waved at Bakura with a dismissive hand. "Go ahead and go," he said.

Bakura turned to do so. "Goodbye, Father," he said, hurrying up the corridor and back to the coat rack. He made sure he had his housekeys before slipping into his coat and heading for the door.

Yami Bakura followed him out, pulling the door shut after them. "You didn't tell him why we were going out, I suppose," he said.

"No. . . ." Bakura looked guilty. "I made it sound like we were just going to take a walk."

"We are going to take a walk," Yami Bakura said, going past him and down the steps.

Bakura hurried after him. "I still hate lying to him," he said. "It feels like a lie, when it isn't the whole truth. . . ."

"He would just worry if you told him that," Yami Bakura said. "And he might not have let you leave."

Bakura shoved his hands in his pockets. "It feels wrong, though," he said. He trudged ahead, glancing around at the Christmas lights flashing and twinkling up and down the street. It felt like such a strange and wrong contrast, to see something so bright and beautiful when his heart was in such turmoil---and when a deadly serial killer was prowling through the city, hurting and murdering. But on the other hand, he mused, maybe that was when signs of Christmas were needed more than ever.

Yami Bakura looked at the lights too. "I doubt we'll find anything," he said. "Not unless he wants us to. We should be home before long."

Bakura nodded absently. "And maybe we can decorate," he said, his mind far away.

Yami Bakura snorted. "I don't intend to climb a ladder in order to hang up a string of tiny multi-colored electric bulbs that will just come down in a month," he said.

Bakura laughed in spite of himself. "I'd hang them," he said. "I don't know . . . with so many terrible things happening, I suddenly feel like I need a little Christmas."

"You're not going to sing that song at me, are you?" Yami Bakura grumped.

Bakura could not help being amused. "Yami, you're such a Grinch," he said. "Or a Scrooge. But who knows . . . this has been a season of miracles. Maybe I can help you to like Christmas yet."

"'Miracles'?" Yami Bakura scoffed. "A serial killer is at large, a man who was supposed to have died over a century ago. Is that your idea of a miracle?"

Bakura sighed. "No," he said. "But . . . seeing a man poisoned by hate, supposed to have died three thousand years ago, granted a second chance . . . that's a miracle to me."

Yami Bakura looked away and did not offer a reply.

For a while they walked in silence. But it was when they approached the downtown area that Bakura abruptly cried out in horror. "Yami!" he gasped, grabbing at the Egyptian's arm.

Yami Bakura looked up with a start, just in time to see what was horrifying Bakura.

His eyes widened in shock.

****

Duke was exhausted as he climbed into his turquoise car and pulled the door shut. Black Friday was always a busy day at the Black Crown, and this year had been no exception. He fumbled for the right key; then, finding it, he somehow fit it into the ignition. Despite resting for a while in his upper office, he was so tired right now that he felt half-asleep. In fact, he felt more tired now than he had before he had laid down on the couch.

He perked up as he began to maneuver out of the parking lot, however. He needed complete attention to be able to drive home. What was more, Bakura's---and David Tanaka's---warnings were still on his mind. He had to keep watch for this White Death guy. The last thing he wanted was to be the next victim.

He yawned again as he made it onto the street. Across the way, on the curb in front of the Turtle Game Shop, Yugi was outside talking to someone. The worn-out teen did not give it a second thought. It was probably a customer who was just leaving. Maybe Yugi was giving directions to somewhere. Duke would wave as he drove past.

But as he drew closer to the scene, his eyes widened in shock and horror. The person to whom Yugi was talking suddenly lashed out, pushing the hapless boy into the road---and right into the path of the car. Yugi yelped in astonished disbelief.

The color drained from Duke's face as he slammed on the brakes. But even as he tried with all his might to swerve the car away, he could not. The front of the car connected with Yugi's poor body, sending the other teen flying onto the hood. As the automobile finally screeched to a stop, the limp form fell off, crashing to the pavement.

Duke flung open the door, his whole body shaking as he stumbled out and ran. "Yugi!" he cried, collapsing beside his still friend. "Yugi, wake up!" He gripped Yugi's shoulder, feeling sick.

"Duke! Yugi!" Bakura screamed, running into the road from where he had been standing on the sidewalk, helpless to do a thing. Yami Bakura was right behind him, his white hair streaming out in the chill air.

Duke barely registered who was there. "Call 911!" he yelled. "Call them right now. I hit him! I can't believe it, I hit him. . . . Come on, Yugi, speak to me!" He had turned Yugi onto his back now, panic-stricken as he bent down to check for life. Blood oozed down Yugi's face from an angry gash in his forehead, slipping onto his shirt and neck. It had already stained the asphalt a deep crimson.

Bakura breathed a horrified prayer as he took out his cellphone, his hands shaking. As he dialed, he was aware of Yami Bakura speaking next to him.

"The man who pushed Yugi isn't here," the thief growled. "He ran away. And isn't it convenient, that Yugi was pushed right into the path of another person with black hair."

Now Bakura went sheet-white. "Yami, you're not saying . . ."

"It was the White Death," Yami Bakura hissed. "Don't you see? He was trying to take out two black-haired people at once. He deliberately set this up to make Duke hit Yugi!"

Bakura's hands shook harder. He threw his phone at Yami Bakura. "Here!" he cried. "You talk to 911!" With that he ran across the street, his heart gathering speed. Maybe they could still catch the White Death, if they looked right now. Maybe he would not have had a chance to get far enough away. . . .

Yami Bakura swore. "Bakura, what do you think you're doing?!" he screamed.

"Setting this right!" Bakura called back.

He vanished into the shadows as a light snow began to fall.


	9. Not Much Different

**Chapter Nine**

Bakura ran around the side of the Turtle Game Shop, his heart racing and his common sense pushed to the side. Yugi was hurt. Duke was devastated. Others had already died. And Bakura could not stand it any longer. The White Death's reign of terror had gone too far for his gentle heart to take.

"Where are you?!" he screamed, his voice echoing throughout the frozen night. "I'm the one you want! Well, fine! Take me for your 'collection'! Take me and stop killing! I'll only go with you if you don't go after anyone else!"

There was no answer. Bakura looked about, desperate. The White Death could not have gotten away so fast! He had to still be around. He had to be able to hear Bakura's screams and pleas!

"Stop hiding like a coward!" he yelled. "Come out of your secret place! I'm right here, ready to go with you just like you've wanted!"

But only silence and the falling snow responded to his cries. In despair he sank to his knees, overwhelmed as he dug his hands into his hair and sobbed.

"Bakura!" A harsh curse. "You idiot!"

Bakura did not even look up.

"I didn't know if I would find you still here." Yami Bakura grabbed at his wrist. "What would you have done if the White Death had actually taken you away?!" he snapped. "Tell me that!" He went around to look into the distraught boy's eyes. "We don't even know where he's hiding out! Most likely, no one would have ever seen you again!"

"Would that have been so terrible?!" Bakura shot back, looking up through his tears.

Yami Bakura fell back, stunned by that response. For a moment he could not think what to reply.

Bakura got to his feet, his eyes flashing with anguish. "All I've ever done is bring trouble," he said. "The day Mother and Amane were killed, I had a premonition that something horrible would happen. But I didn't know how to follow up on it. If I had known what to do, maybe they wouldn't have been in that car crash!

"I wasn't ever able to help Yugi and the others," he continued. "They probably never even knew whether to trust me, after everything that happened during Duelist Kingdom and Battle City and the search for the Pharaoh's memories!

"And now this!" Bakura gestured back at the street, where the wail of an ambulance was audible and growing louder. "The serial killer, my friends being attacked . . . ! Of course it would be better if I went away! I doubt that anyone would really notice or care. My father would rather travel the world. My friends would still have each other . . . if they'll even recover from what's happened here tonight!"

Yami Bakura's eyes burned. He lashed out, striking Bakura across the face.

Bakura stumbled back, raising a shaking hand to his cheek. For all his treacherous behavior in the past, the thief had only physically harmed his former host once or twice. Bakura could only stare at him now, stunned into silence.

"Did you ever once have any idea what your premonition was about?" Yami Bakura said.

Bakura could only numbly shake his head.

"Then how could you have done anything with it?!" Yami Bakura retorted. "And as far as your friends are concerned, you have helped them! Your rebellion against me during Duelist Kingdom assisted in bringing about their victory over my plan! And you continued to fight against me whenever you could."

He stepped closer. "And as far as no one caring---why do you think your father has lingered? The man loves you, Bakura. He just has a generally terrible way of showing it. And your friends always jump to your aid when they know you need them. And . . ." He trailed off, gritting his teeth. Where was he going with this? What was the feeling that had leaped to the forefront of his mind when Bakura had burst out in anguish?

The feeling he had been denying all along. . . . The real reason why he was so upset at Bakura's words and actions. . . .

". . . I care," he hissed. "Why do you think I've been so determined to keep you from being harmed?" His voice rose. "Why would I want you to be taken by that devil? Why would I want him to do to you what he eventually does to everyone in his 'collection'?! If you remembered what he really does . . . !" He swore in Egyptian. "No, I will never let that happen to you! I _can't!_"

At last Bakura found his voice. "Yami . . ." he gasped.

But there was no chance for anything more to be said. The siren grew louder, interrupting their thoughts. Bakura turned to look, his stomach knotting up again as the ambulance stopped at the scene.

"Oh Yami, do you think Yugi's going to be alright?!" he exclaimed.

"I have no idea!" Yami Bakura retorted. "I'm not a doctor." Perhaps Yugi only had a concussion and some bruised ribs. But on the other hand, there could be serious internal injuries. Yami Bakura could not say one way or another, and the last thing he wanted to do was to give Bakura false hope, so he would not give an opinion at all.

He did have to respect Duke for his ability to keep a clear mind. Despite clearly being in the depths of despair and horror over having struck his friend, the teen had kept enough presence of mind to work on trying to stop the bleeding and preparing the unconscious Yugi for the onset of shock. Now he was standing by, watching with Solomon as the paramedics lifted Yugi onto a stretcher and then into the ambulance.

Bakura ran over to them, his heart in upheavel. "I'm so sorry!" he cried as he stopped in front of them.

"_You're_ sorry?" Duke was shaking. "You're not the one who hit him," he said, bitterness slipping into his voice.

"Now, it wasn't your fault!" Solomon said sternly, though the pain in his own voice was obvious. "And Yugi's strong. He'll pull through this; he's been through far worse." He moved to climb into the ambulance, but hesitated, concerned for Duke. The boy looked so devastated and alone as he stood there, the snow falling around him.

"Go ahead and go, Mr. Muto," Duke said. "I'm just going to go home."

"Are you sure?" Solomon frowned. "You might have whiplash. You should be examined too."

"I'm just fine. I'll come by later to see how Yugi's doing." Duke turned away.

Bakura felt horrible. He reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You're in no condition to drive," he said. "Here, I'll drive you home."

"Are _you_ in any condition to drive?" Yami Bakura muttered as he walked over to them.

Duke opened his mouth to protest the offer, but then closed it again. His hands were still trembling and he felt weak. If he tried to drive himself home, he might end up hitting someone else.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "The keys are still in the ignition."

Bakura nodded, gently taking hold of Duke's shoulders as he guided the other boy to the car. "Just get in the passenger side," he said.

Duke did so, pulling down the seatbelt as the ambulance sped away with flashing lights and wailing sirens. The red hue flickered on the windshield and the hood, reflected in Duke's eyes as he stared after it.

Yami Bakura climbed over the door, getting into the backseat behind the driver. Bakura walked around and got in the driver's door, taking a deep breath as he shut the door and moved to turn the key.

"I have my permit, but I haven't had much chance to make use of it," he said with a sheepish smile.

"_Now_ you tell me," Duke said. He leaned back, staring at the snow falling from the sky. "You need to put the top up," he directed. "And even if you haven't driven much, you'll probably do a better job than I'd do right now."

Bakura pressed the button that activated the canvas roof of the classic convertible. In a moment the snow could no longer find entry. It began to pile on the roof instead, as well as on the windshield. Bakura turned on the windshield wipers as he began to pull away from the curb.

Duke stayed silent, gazing out the window at the winter night. ". . . You said I was in danger," he said at last. "I never really thought that I'd be the means of bringing a tragedy like this."

Bakura swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry," he said, tears pricking his eyes. "I never thought something like this would happen, either."

Duke barely heard. "And if he dies . . ."

"He won't die!" Bakura interrupted, the desperation and urgency very clear in his voice. "He can't."

"If he does, I won't be able to face his family. I won't be able to stand having my business right across the street, where every day I can look out the window and see where it happened." Duke rested his elbow on the inside of the car door, propping himself up with his hand. "That's the real reason I didn't go to the hospital with them. I just couldn't bear the thought of being in the ambulance with them when it's because of me that Yugi's in there."

Bakura gripped the steering wheel tighter. "I understand," he said softly.

". . . He was just suddenly _there,_ in front of the car." Now Duke's voice was choked with emotion. "I tried to stop. I really tried hard, but I couldn't. . . ."

"Of course you tried!" Bakura exclaimed. "Some things are just out of your control, no matter how much you try to or want to control them. The White Death manipulated the entire situation in his favor. You couldn't have done anything about that!"

He caught sight of Yami Bakura smirking at him in the rear-view mirror. He stiffened, his eyes widening as realization dawned. What kind of a hypocrite was he, to be telling these things to Duke if he could not follow his own advice? Yami Bakura had been telling him what he was telling Duke, but it had not really registered; he had felt like the situation was different and did not apply to him.

Duke rubbed at his eyes. "I could have driven home the other way," he muttered angrily. "I didn't have to go past the Mutos' game shop."

"You didn't know," Bakura said softly and with compassion. "How could you have? There wasn't any indication that the man talking to Yugi was dangerous or that he would do such a horrible thing."

"I guess." But Duke did not sound convinced.

Bakura gave a sad sigh. Had his Yami felt this same feeling of helplessness when Bakura could not seem to gear his mind to listening to this counsel? Bakura would not have previously thought so. But he had longed to believe that the other cared, and now Yami Bakura had revealed that he did. There had been too much going on to really process it at the time, though it had stayed in the back of Bakura's mind. Now it was coming to the forefront.

". . . Here we are," he announced as they pulled up in front of the apartment complex.

Duke perked up. "Thanks, Bakura," he said, reaching for the keys as Bakura took them out of the ignition.

"We could come in with you if you'd like," Bakura offered. "In fact, maybe we should, to make sure the White Death isn't hiding in your apartment. . . ."

Yami Bakura grunted in what was probably agreement.

Duke paused, absently rubbing his fingers on the keys. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted. "After everything he already did, I can hardly believe he'd come around again right now."

"You forget, he was trying to kill both you and Yugi," Yami Bakura spoke. "Since he failed, he could very well come back for you."

A frown creased Duke's features. "If you think so," he said, getting out of the car.

"I do think it's a possibility we shouldn't ignore," Bakura said. He exited as well, Yami Bakura following.

All was peaceful as they made their way into the building and up to Duke's apartment on the third floor. A thorough investigation of the abode revealed no unwelcome intruders---save for a spider in the bathroom. Duke just sighed, sinking into the couch when they were done.

"That's that," he said. "Can I get you anything?"

Bakura quickly shook his head. "Oh no," he said. "You just rest, Duke. Heaven knows you need it."

"And we need to be going," Yami Bakura said.

Duke nodded. "Go ahead," he said. "I'll be fine here."

Bakura hesitated, shifting his weight. "I do hate to leave you here all alone," he said. "Even if the White Death doesn't come, I mean." His voice lowered. "I know what it's like, to be all alone. . . ."

Duke looked to him. ". . . I'm really okay," he said. "Don't worry about me. It's Yugi who needs to be worried about."

"He certainly does," Bakura said. "But he wasn't the only one who was hurt tonight."

Again Duke was silent. "I'm of no consequence," he said at last. "Yugi's important and well-loved. I'd say that if it had to be one of us, it should have been me getting hit---only I know that would have crushed Yugi too much, to know that he hurt someone. I could never wish that on him."

Bakura's heart twisted once more. Many of his own words were being flung right back at him, without Duke knowing they had been spoken before.

"Oh Duke . . ." He went over and sat down by the other teen. "It's not true. You're important, too."

"I've always felt like an outsider," Duke said. "And you have too, haven't you, Bakura? Let's face it, we're the forgotten ones. And everyone's going to hate me when they find out I hit Yugi. . . ."

"Mr. Muto told you it wasn't your fault!" Bakura exclaimed. "The others will know that, too. They'll be horrified, of course, but their hearts will be hurting for you as well as for Yugi. Duke, you were both victims tonight."

Duke gave a weak smirk. "You'd make a good counselor, Bakura," he said. "I know that. About being a victim, I mean. But that doesn't make me feel any less responsible for what happened."

Bakura's shoulders drooped. "No," he said, "it wouldn't." He managed a sad smile. "And believe me, I know. My Yami was pretty much having this conversation with me not too long ago."

Duke blinked. "Your Yami . . . ?" He glanced at the ancient tomb-robber, who was wandering around the room and looking incessantly bored. "I have a hard time picturing him being patient, like you've been with me."

"Well . . ." Bakura glanced at Yami Bakura too. "I'm afraid he wasn't. But . . ." He smiled again. "He said what needed to be said."

"Really?" Now Duke was staring at the white-haired boy. "What happened to your face?"

Bakura raised a hand to touch his still-red cheek. "He was knocking some sense into me," he said, "and making sure I remember that I am cared about and that no one would want to see anything happen to me." He looked pleadingly into Duke's eyes. "And the same is true for you, Duke. I know it is, even if it feels like it isn't."

Duke averted his gaze. "It feels selfish to even be talking about me, when Yugi's laying at death's door," he said, the bitterness returning.

"Is that why you never do talk about you?" Bakura asked. "It never feels like the right time?"

Duke shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe partially. Maybe because I don't feel like I have anyone I can talk to."

"You can talk to me," Bakura said.

Duke smiled a bit. "Yeah . . . I guess I can," he said.

Yami Bakura grunted. It did not look like they would be getting away any time soon.

****

It was several hours and calls to Bakura's father and the hospital later when the duo finally left Duke's apartment and stepped into what had transformed into a winter wonderland. Snow was now covering the grass, the sidewalks and streets, and was still descending from the sky. Bakura stared up at the large flakes in awe, for a brief moment looking like a fascinated and amazed child. But then the look was gone and he gave a tired sigh.

"Why were we in there so long?" Yami Bakura grumped.

Bakura looked to him. "Duke needed someone there, even though it was the last thing he would admit," he said. "I know that feeling all too well." He glanced back at the building. "I hope he'll be alright now. . . ."

"Since there hasn't been any change in Yugi's condition, he said he was going to try to get some sleep," Yami Bakura said.

"He certainly needs it," Bakura said. "But I can't imagine he'll really be able to have it. . . ."

"You did all you could," Yami Bakura said. "When it comes to that, you have to acknowledge it and step back to see whether you've done any good. And not beat yourself up if you find it's fallen on deaf ears."

Bakura pulled his coat closer around him. "I suppose. . . ."

He looked back to the thief. "Thank you, Yami, for all that you've been trying to do for me," he said. "It means a great deal. And . . ." He smiled. "I'm happy that you've finally been able to realize what I hoped was the truth."

Yami Bakura grunted and shrugged. "I can't explain how it could be true," he said. "I was supposed to be past those kinds of foolish, asinine feelings."

"I'm sure Zorc told you that," Bakura said. "And . . . maybe you told yourself, too. . . . I don't know . . . maybe it hurt too much to care, after losing everyone?" He looked down. "I know I felt like that after Mother and Amane . . ." He trailed off. "Once in anger and grief I just wanted to lock it all away---the hurt, the pain, the feeling that it was my fault. . . . I wondered what good it was to love someone if they were just taken away."

Yami Bakura stared at him. "You, Bakura?" he said in disbelief. "I've always known you harbored a lot of pain, but I never imagined that you felt like that."

Bakura nodded. "And my father was rarely around once I was old enough to take care of myself. . . . I hated the loneliness. . . ." He swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat did not go away. "I hated it so much. . . . I couldn't imagine it was right to feel that way.

"But then you came into my life. . . ."

"A poor cure for loneliness," Yami Bakura said.

"When we're so sad and heartbroken, we accept almost anything sometimes, don't we," Bakura said, the sad smile returning. "And you, with all your coldness and cruelty, were better than the utter silence I'd grown so accustomed to hearing. At least you were there. And at least you would sometimes talk to me."

"I could never feel that way about Zorc," Yami Bakura said.

"I didn't always feel like that about you," Bakura admitted. "There were days I hated you so much that I wanted to do anything I could to spite you. I wanted you to leave everyone I loved alone. I wanted you to go away and never come back, even if it meant I'd be alone again." He frowned. "And yet . . . when I was finally rid of you, I wasn't at peace at all." He looked to the other. "I kept waking up in the night feeling like something was dreadfully wrong.

"Of late, I've started remembering fragments of a dream I was having then," he continued. "You . . . you were talking to me, telling me how Zorc had been absorbing your spirit and obliterating who you actually were. Then . . . Zorc was being destroyed, both in the RPG and in real life. And your spirit was being torn apart." He blinked away a horrified tear. "You cried out to me for help. . . . Then you were gone."

Yami Bakura was again amazed. "It wasn't just a dream," he said. "I'm surprised you actually remember all that. I thought you'd blocked it out or else had never heard me at all."

"You really pleaded for me to help you?!" Bakura said in sickened alarm.

"I was desperate," Yami Bakura growled. "There were many days between the time of Zorc's destruction and the night I went into your room. I was fighting off my own destruction all that time, lingering in an odd state between existence and oblivion. I don't know how or why I ended up in your room in my darkest hours."

That was something Bakura could not begin to imagine, either. "Maybe you were supposed to be there?" he ventured. "Maybe Shadi or someone sent you. . . ."

"I don't think so." Yami Bakura frowned. "I think for some reason, I sent myself there.

"Not that the reason why really matters now."

He turned his attention to the piling whiteness all around them. The White Death loved snow, of course. He was liable to do more terrible things as long as it was on the ground. And that could be a while; it seemed to be sticking.

". . . Father must be horribly worried by now," Bakura said, sensing that thief wanted to change the subject. "We were only supposed to be taking a little walk."

"You've kept him up-to-date," Yami Bakura said.

"I know," Bakura said, "and once he knew about Duke and Yugi . . ." He shuddered. "Oh, he was near-hysterical worrying about my safety. . . ."

"I'm guessing you didn't tell him how you ran off," Yami Bakura said.

Bakura shook his head. "Oh no. I wouldn't have dared," he said. "Not after the way he reacted to the first part. . . ."

Yami Bakura grunted.

By now they were nearing the house. It looked just as they had left it, though there actually seemed to be more lights on than earlier. Bakura stepped onto the porch, turning the key in the doorknob and pushing it open. "Father?" he called. "We're home. . . ." He wiped his feet before crossing over the threshold and into the living room.

Yami Bakura's eyes narrowed when then was no response. He shut the door, taking off his trenchcoat.

"Maybe he fell asleep," Bakura said, starting down the hall without removing his coat. "Father?"

The door to the den was half-open. Frowning, Bakura pushed it aside the rest of the way. His blood ran cold at the sight.

"Oh," he gasped. "Oh my. . . ."

Furniture, books, papers, and everything else imaginable was strewn in all directions. The heavy desk was the only thing unmoved, but all that had been on it was now lost somewhere in the mess. As Bakura tried to move forward, picking his way over the war zone, a deep crimson on the desk caught his eye. He stepped forward, leaning over to see. He froze, clapping his hands over his mouth.

"What is it?!" Yami Bakura snapped from the doorway.

Bakura could not even reply. He stood stock-still save for the trembles passing through his body.

Yami Bakura came into the room, not bothering to be as careful as Bakura had been. When the top of the desk came into view, his eyes widened, then narrowed in furious outrage.

_Blue is not really much different than black, is it, little Ryou?_

A lock of Mr. Bakura's medium-blue hair was pinned to the desk by a bloody knife. Yami Bakura went closer, his visage twisting in repulsion. What would this do to Bakura?! He had to admit, even he had not expected this turn. Was the man really . . .

Bakura focused on the crimson-stained hair, his heart pounding faster. His brown eyes, wide with horror and disbelief, suddenly failed him. The room was spinning and dipping. This was the final straw.

Even as Yami Bakura whirled, calling to him from somewhere far away, he collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.


	10. The Truth of the Closet

**Notes: And we discover exactly why I chose "Horror" as a second category for this fic.**

**Chapter Ten**

_Ring._

_Ring._

_Ring._

The annoying, shrill sound pierced Bakura's consciousness. He moaned and turned his head to the side as he silently willed it to stop. But his mental abilities clearly needed work; it continued to wail no matter how much he begged it to be quiet.

Then at last it stopped. "Hello?!"

He blinked, half-opening his eyes. He was laying on the couch in his father's office. Yami Bakura was standing next to him, having snatched the receiver up in obvious aggravation.

The person on the other end spoke loud enough for Bakura to hear. "Oh, it's the spirit of the Millennium Ring!" the White Death exclaimed.

Bakura went chalk-white.

Yami Bakura growled. "What did you do with the boy's father?!" he snapped.

Bakura blinked up at him. "My . . . father?" he said dumbly. He was still trying to piece together what had happened before his awakening. Why had he been asleep in the first place? But the sight of the ruined den brought it all rushing back. The message on the desk, written in blood. . . . The hair and knife. . . . With a cry he sat up straight, his eyes wide as he stared at the telephone.

The White Death clucked his tongue. "Poor James," he said. "We were college roommates, but I couldn't let that stand in the way. After all, he's been keeping Ryou from me for so long, so very long. It's really unforgivable."

Bakura knelt up on the couch, half-grabbing the receiver out of the astonished Yami Bakura's hands. "Where is he?!" he screamed. "If you've harmed my father, I swear I'll . . ."

"I haven't done anything except help you, little Ryou," the White Death said. "That's what I've been doing ever since I came here to your city."

"_Help_ me?!" Bakura cried in indignation. "You've been hurting and killing. How does that possibly help me?!"

"You're so pure and good, little Ryou," the twisted man declared. "You don't deserve to associate with so many evil people so far below you, so I've been removing them for you."

_"Evil?!"_ Bakura gripped the receiver, his knuckles white. "They have black hair, so you're deciding without a doubt that they're evil?! Let me tell you, I've been learning quite a bit about hypocrisy over the last few days. And you're the biggest hypocrite of them all! You're so caught up trying to see evil in superficial ways that you completely ignore the fact that your heart and soul are completely covered in the darkness." Tears pricked his eyes. "You've gone after acquaintances, strangers, my closest friends . . . and now my father! But I won't stand for it any longer. You have him with you! Where are you?!"

A slight pause. "Well, I suppose I could tell you," the White Death said then. "But if you're coming in the hopes of rescuing James, I'm afraid you're out of luck. The best I could do is give you back what's left."

Bakura cried out in anguish and building hatred. Yami Bakura's eyes flamed. He tried to grab the receiver back, but Bakura was holding on too tight. Yami Bakura could only bend down and snarl near the mouthpiece.

"You'll regret all that you've done," he said. "We'll find you. Then you will be wishing you had never attempted to come back into Bakura's life. And whatever you've inflicted on his father, I'll repay you a hundredfold."

"You're feisty! I like that. You must have given some of your defiance to dear Ryou." The White Death did not sound frightened in the least. That, Yami Bakura vowed, would be yet another of the wretch's grave mistakes.

"He is no longer the trusting child you remember," Yami Bakura said. "He's growing up."

"And so wonderfully too.

"Little Ryou!" the White Death exclaimed now. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll let you see poor James' remains, maybe even to lay them to rest, if you promise me one simple thing."

Bakura was still ashen. "What's that?" he asked, his voice stretched to the point of breaking.

"Give the spirit of the Ring to me," the White Death purred. "Have him join my collection. And after you've disposed of James, you must come to me too."

The bile was rising in Bakura's throat, but somehow he pushed it back. "What?!" he choked out. "I can't! I'll never . . ."

He stared as Yami Bakura held up a hand to stop him. The thief shook his head, his hair flying. The hatred he felt for the monster on the phone was displayed all over his visage, but he mouthed, "Tell him you accept."

Bakura could only continue to gawk in horrified disbelief. Why would his Yami want him to say such a thing?! How could he possibly commit to any of it?! He could not turn Yami Bakura over to this madman! And the thought of the collection, of either of them being part of it . . . it filled him with such a strong terror that it threatened to make him slam down the phone and run out of the room, to keep running until he was far away, where the White Death could never find him.

Yami Bakura reached out, grabbing Bakura's hand. "Trust me," he mouthed, his eyes urgent.

Bakura searched the other pair of brown eyes, as he had done so many times in the last few days. This was a hard test for him. If he trusted Yami Bakura's words, he would plunge them deeper into this nightmare. But if he did not give his trust, it would shatter their forming bond, as well as this chance to try to bring the White Death to justice . . . and find his father. He could not leave his father in the hands of the White Death, even if he was already . . .

He swallowed again. "I . . . I'll do it," he rasped. Was the White Death even still there? It seemed like his hesitation had gone on for ages.

But the horrid voice purred from the receiver. "Good! I knew you would make the wise decision, little Ryou. Now, come to this address within the hour." It was somewhere in Domino Heights, a wealthy suburb. Bakura memorized it, mouthing it to his Yami to write down.

"I . . . we'll be there," he said.

"I'll be waiting," the White Death said. "It will be so good to see you again, dear Ryou." With that he hung up.

Trembling, Bakura dropped the receiver back into its cradle. Then he slumped back, running his fingers into his hair. "What are we going to do?!" he half-moaned, half-sobbed. "He . . . he's killed my father. . . . Why . . . why would he do that?! I thought Father would be safe! . . . You _said_ he'd be safe! Do you remember, Yami? I was worried about him and you said he'd be safe! . . ."

Yami Bakura growled, sitting down next to the distraught teen. He knew Bakura did not mean to sound so accusing. But he was angry himself, that this attack had happened without either of them prepared for it.

". . . Your father may be alive," he said. "I couldn't say for certain, but it's obvious that he took the man in order to force us to come to him." He clenched a fist. "And his overconfidence will be his downfall. I'll make certain of it."

Bakura shuddered, looking up at him. "Father might be alive?" he repeated, ignoring the rest of what had been said. If that could be true, then of course they had to go into the lions' den. They had to leave right now and do everything possible to save him!

Yami Bakura averted his gaze, not wanting to see the hope back in Bakura's innocent eyes---not when it might go out again. "I don't know," he said. "I can't predict anymore what this wretch is going to do." He called the White Death a string of names in Egyptian that Bakura was glad he did not understand.

Bakura bit his lip. ". . . If Father really is . . ." He shook his head. Part of him wanted to ask what sort of condition the White Death would have left the body in, but the other part could not bear to know or even think of it.

"What will we do when we get there?" he queried instead.

"We'll play along at first," Yami Bakura said. "I'll try to find a point to overpower him with the power of the Infinity Ring. If I can figure out what the blasted thing can actually _do_ other than make me mortal and allow me to change my physical appearance." He pushed himself off the couch. "We should leave right now. It could take a while to find the place."

Bakura nodded, shakily getting up as well.

Yami Bakura hesitated, watching him. The boy still did not remember the truth about the White Death's "collection," nor had he asked Yami Bakura to tell him. Perhaps he should have done it last night, after all. It was difficult to know what to say about it now that there was this new twist. Bakura might get himself worked into such a state that he would not be able to do anything. But on the other hand, if he was suddenly surprised by the sight of it when they arrived. . . .

"You're going to see a lot of strange things," he said at last as they headed out of the room.

Bakura shuddered. "I've thought about that," he said. "I suppose there'll be all those poor animals, like the white cat Pete Coppermine saw." He walked faster, going back towards the front door. "I hope we can get all of them out of that wretched man's clutches."

Yami Bakura grunted as he followed. "He keeps every white animal he finds," he said. "When they die, he keeps them still."

Bakura froze. "You mean . . ." He whirled, staring at the thief in shock.

Yami Bakura just met his gaze and held it, challenging him to determine the answer on his own.

Bakura gripped the knob, hauling the door open. What did Yami Bakura mean? The White Death could keep their ashes, but would he want to do that, if all he cared about was their white fur or feathers? No, surely it would have to be something that would preserve the whiteness. . . .

He stiffened, whirling to look at Yami Bakura. "He skins them?!" he cried.

"Close." Yami Bakura pushed Bakura out the door. "He stuffs them," he snarled, snatching his coat off the coat tree. "And call a cab. The snow is still falling out here." He dragged the door shut, pulling his arms into the black coat.

Only now did Bakura remember he was still wearing his own coat. "That's so morbid," he said, digging his phone out of his pocket. Then he frowned. "I saw an odd tool in that room," he recalled. "Could I have stumbled across his taxidermy lab? Maybe that was what I saw in the closet---animals in the process of being stuffed. . . ."

Yami Bakura shoved his hands in his pockets. "Is that what you think?" he said.

Bakura paused, his finger poised above the numberpad on his cellphone. "No," he said slowly, "it doesn't seem like that was it. . . ." He finished dialing the number of the cab company and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he said, his mind occupied now. "Yes, I'd like to send for a cab. . . ."

"Tell them the route to take," Yami Bakura said. "We'll meet them along the way."

Bakura nodded, only half-hearing. But he did as Yami Bakura said, and though the dispatcher was surprised, she agreed. Soon they were walking through the snow, heading towards the cab that had been sent.

Bakura hardly paid attention as they crunched along. What on earth had he seen in that closet? Seeing animals the White Death had been mounting would definitely be a shocking, even horrifying, thing for a five-year-old. There were all kinds of stomach-turning steps required for taxidermy, some that he did not want to think about even now. So why did he feel like it had been something different?

_He pushed the door open, running into the room without even stopping to see what it was. That was not important; he would see it when he had the door locked between him and his father's friend._

_But as he turned, his eyes widened in shock. This room was all in white, from the walls to the furniture. And everywhere, from the couches to the pillows on the floor, were animals. Dogs, cats, birds . . . many of them breeds that he had never before seen._

_A frown crossed his innocent features. These animals were not like the ones in the red room; they were not moving. They stared out with blank eyes, looking across the space or at whatever happened to be in front of them. Some looked through him, not seeing him at all._

_  
"Hello?" he ventured as he stepped forward. "Is there a way out of here? I guess if there is, you haven't been able to use it, have you?"_

_A cold shiver went up his spine as he advanced further into the room. The animals were as still and lifeless as the plushies he and Amane liked to collect. Maybe that was what they were. Maybe they were not real at all. The thought comforted him as he kept going. There was another door beside the right-hand corner, so maybe he would be able to get out of the house that way._

_But he stiffened as he approached the side of the room. One little dog, a Bichon Frise, was sitting by the door on a white pillow, as if guarding it. Its eyes stared as blankly as all the others, its mouth open with its tongue slightly exposed._

_He trembled. "Fluffy?" he whispered. He dropped to his knees, staring at the motionless form. Fluffy had disappeared from his street so long ago, never to be found though everyone had desperately searched. He had been told that some kid had probably found the dog and taken her for his own, but he had overheard his parents talking late at night and saying that Fluffy had likely been hit by a car._

_And this was her, he knew it was! It looked just like the friendly, happy dog he had played with on so many days. Her collar and tag were even still around her neck, bearing her name._

_He shot back, his heart pounding. Fluffy was just like the stuffed animals he had seen in the museum when he had gone to visit his father. All of the animals here were like that._

_He leaped to his feet, violently shaking. Panic-stricken now, he pulled open the door and ran into what seemed to be another corridor._

"Bakura!"

He started, snapping back to the present. Yami Bakura was glaring at him in concern as they stood in the road, their path illuminated by the headlights of a yellow cab.

The British boy shook his head. "I . . . that dog I told you about, Yami," he rasped. "The White Death had her. I remember now. She . . . she was in a room filled with stuffed animals!"

Yami Bakura growled. "Is that all you remember?" he said, pulling open the door of the cab.

Bakura nodded as he climbed inside. "I think so," he said. "I ran out of there and then the White Death found me again. . . ." He shuddered. "That was when I tore away in a panic and found that other room . . . the one with the closet. . . ."

Yami Bakura pulled the door shut as he got in after Bakura. "We're going to Domino Heights," he barked, giving the exact address.

"Okay, okay," the driver said, shaking his head. "No need to get all growly about it. I'll get you there. Sheesh."

Bakura turned to look at his Yami as he pulled down his seatbelt. "What did I see in that closet?" he whispered.

Yami Bakura clenched a fist. "I'll tell you when we get there," he said. "When we're alone again."

Bakura gave a numb nod. For the thief to both be so concerned about him knowing and yet to not want to talk about it here only made him all the more anxious.

_Please hold on, Father,_ he said silently. _I can't believe you're really . . . gone. I have to believe we can still save you! I have to. . . ._

He prayed in desperation as they headed towards Domino Heights.

****

Domino Heights was filled with wealthy people, large and modern houses, and a festive nature. There were some streets where every house was lit with Christmas lights and lawn decorations. Many bore multi-colored bulbs, though some preferred white or a mixture of both. When the cab pulled up in front of their destination, the duo found themselves staring at a completely white-painted house, decorated in all white lights.

Bakura just stared, shaking his head. "It looks like such a normal house," he said. "I never would have thought this would be the place. . . ." His gaze traveled over the icicle lights draped around the front of the building. "Somehow it seems more disturbing to see it like this than for it to be in stark darkness. . . ."

Yami Bakura pushed the door open and stepped out, not offering a comment. "Pay the man," he said.

Bakura fumbled with his wallet, at last managing to extract a bill. "Is this enough?" he asked as he handed it to the driver.

The cabbie's eyes lit up. "Perfect," he said. "So, do you want me to wait here or . . . ?"

Bakura scooted off the backseat and out of the car. "I . . ." He looked to Yami Bakura. "Maybe you'd better wait," he said at last. "And call the police if we're not out within an hour. . . ."

"The police?" The man gawked at them. "Hey, what are you guys going to do?!" he gasped.

"Wait long enough and you might find out," Yami Bakura said. He turned, his trenchcoat flairing out with the movement.

Bakura hurried after him as he started up the long and winding walkway. "Yami!" he called.

Yami Bakura paused, waiting for him to catch up. Bakura ran alongside him, his eyes wide and worried. "How are we going to do this, Yami?" he asked. "Are we just going to march up to the front door?"

"He's smart enough to know that you couldn't and wouldn't trick me," Yami Bakura said. "He'll be expecting us both to be aware of this plan. In fact, he may expect us to try something. So yes, we'll just go to the front door."

But the White Death had other plans. As soon as they stepped onto the porch, a perfect square opened under Yami Bakura's feet. He stared, his eyes widening in shock as he plummeted through the trapdoor and down a bright chute.

Bakura's mouth dropped open in horror. "Yami!" he screamed, diving at the door even as the tomb robber's furious curses echoed up to him. Before he could follow Yami Bakura through the door, it sealed shut. He crashed to his knees on the porch instead.

"Let me in!" he yelled, banging on the closed panel with his fists. "For Heaven's sake, let me in!"

An ominous creaking brought his attention sharply up. The front door was opening now, seemingly of its own accord, revealing a fully-lighted and well-furnished parlor. "Come in, little Ryou," the nightmarish voice purred. "Come in and you'll find him again. Maybe. And you don't want to keep your father waiting, do you?"

Bakura got to his feet, glaring through the doorway. "Where are you?!" he demanded. "I don't see you anywhere!"

"Come in and find out," was the reply. "I've been waiting for so long to find you again, dear Ryou."

"Well, I was hoping never to see you again!" Bakura spat. There was nothing to do but go inside this way and pray that he would indeed find the others---and that they were alright in the meantime. He took a step forward, then another, and walked into the parlor. The door swung shut behind him, closing with a note of finality.

"That's not a nice thing to say," the White Death objected with mock-hurt.

"I don't care!" Bakura retorted. "You have a lot of nerve, to be speaking of 'nice.' You don't even know what it means!"

"The thief has been poisoning you against me, too," the disembodied voice said. "I decided to split the two of you up so you couldn't try any silly plan to stop me."

"That won't help you!" Bakura said, his anger and worry driving him to speak with much more bravery than he felt inside. He advanced into the room, casting cursory glances at the white furniture. "And as far as 'poisoning' me against you, you did that yourself! I was always afraid of you, right from the very start. I only tolerated you because you were my father's friend and I trusted my father!"

"Poor James," the White Death sighed. "I really wish I hadn't had to do what I did, but well . . . as I said, it couldn't be helped."

Now Bakura could see the electronic speaker high on the wall, half-hidden by a vase. "You didn't have to do it at all!" he cried. "Where is he?!" He clenched a fist. "I won't believe you've killed him. I won't!"

"I'm so sorry, little Ryou," said the White Death. "He's really gone. But I have him somewhere in this house. I'll keep my promise and you can take his body, if you find him."

The adrenaline burst through Bakura's veins. He tore forward into the hall, throwing open each door he found. "I'll find him!" he yelled. "I'll find him and my Yami, too! And you'll be sorry for what you've done!"

"I'm afraid not, dear Ryou," the White Death purred, observing the teen's wild run on his security monitors. "I'm afraid you and the spirit will be the sorry ones." He leaned back, lacing his fingers together as a cruel smile split his features.

****

Yami Bakura was infuriated.

His anger came at least partially from the indignity of flying down a slippery-slide chute and landing on a down mattress at the bottom that had popped open, sending feathers flying in all directions. And it came partially from the aggravation of wandering down a long, white corridor filled with dead-end doors and rooms of nothing but white things.

But mostly it came from hearing the conversation between Bakura and the White Death, broadcast over the speakers wired throughout the manor. To hear the monster's wicked taunting and Bakura struggling to be courageous and not show his fear was driving him on, pushing his panic levels to rise. He had never been able to tell Bakura the truth about the closet, as he had said he would upon their arrival. What if the boy discovered it now, without warning?

And what other surprises did the wretch have in store?

"Bakura!" he called. But it never seemed to do any good. Though he could hear the conversation upstairs, Bakura had never been able to hear him down here.

The White Death, however, could always hear him.

"It doesn't do any good to yell, Spirit," the wretch purred. "I told you, my speaker system is set up so that I can hear all, but you and Ryou only hear what I want you to hear."

Yami Bakura's eyes narrowed hatefully. "What is your plan?" he demanded. "Why am I being kept down here?"

"You know, this house wasn't always mine," the White Death mused. "And when I bought it, it came with all of these eccentricities already installed. I just had to repaint everything white. I thought it would be interesting to make you go through the maze I found in the basement."

"I don't find it interesting at all," Yami Bakura retorted. "It's a waste of my time!"

"Oh, you'll find little Ryou soon enough," the White Death said. "After all, I want us all to have a big, special meeting."

A terror-filled scream rent the air. Yami Bakura froze, staring at the speaker.

"What happened?!" he burst out.

The White Death clucked his tongue. "Poor dear Ryou," he said. "He must have found his father."

****

Bakura stood in the middle of the hall, running a hand into his hair as he looked dejectedly around at the various knick-knacks and mounted animals. He had been all over the main floor of the house, distraught and upset over not being able to find either of the missing people. If there was any inside door to the basement, it was completely hidden from him. He might as well go back to the stairs he had seen and go up to the second floor.

Here was a doorway he did not remember seeing, however---half-hidden behind a curio cabinet. He went closer, curiosity and hope perking him up once more. It seemed to lead into a back hallway, brightly lit just like the rest of the house.

"Hello?" he called as he stepped inside. The White Death had been silent for the last few minutes, but it was debatable whether that was good or bad. In some way, it made him more uneasy to know the killer was watching without saying anything.

"Father? Yami?" He walked further into the corridor, staring in shock at a stuffed white tiger to the side, its mouth open in a permanent growl. He turned away, blinking as he caught sight of something blue on the other side of a glass case. "Father?" he called again, quickening his pace.

The blue never moved. As Bakura drew closer, a gasp caught in his throat.

His father was standing on a platform, completely stiff and still. His eyes stared blankly at nothing, the same as . . .

The same as . . .

Bakura fell back, clapping his hands over his mouth. The horror in the closet. . . .

_The door swung open, revealing its contents to the stunned and frightened child. An elderly woman, her hair pure white, was standing in the space, perfectly motionless with her arms posed as if reaching for something. Her vacant eyes reflected the same thing he had just seen in the dog Fluffy._

_Animals were not the only things the White Death stuffed._

Bakura screamed, falling forward as he threw his arms around his father's lifeless body. He sobbed, the hopelessness and horror threatening to overwhelm him.


	11. The Infinity Ring

**Chapter Eleven**

Yami Bakura was shaken to the core by Bakura's cry. The poor boy had seen so much on this escapade, things he never should have seen or remembered. His past with the White Death should have stayed locked in the dark recesses of his mind, never to emerge. Now . . . what on earth had been done to his father?!

"What have you done?!" he demanded of the disembodied voice as he continued down the hall, throwing open each door in his search for an exit.

"Nothing that I haven't done before," the White Death said. "And I was sorry to do it to James, but . . ."

Alarm and horror gripped Yami Bakura's heart. Would the White Death have done what Yami Bakura had seen him do to missing people in the past? That seemed to be the implication. If so, and if that was what Bakura had seen right now. . . .

Something about that idea seemed off, somehow. But there was no time to think about it. He would do that after he found Bakura.

The thief looked around with flashing eyes, still trying to spy any possible way out of this labyrinth. In a mad fury he reached under his shirt, pulling out the Infinity Ring. "I still don't know what you can do, Ring," he hissed, "but if you know a way to get me out of here, then do it now!"

The silver ring glowed, responding to the command. A beam shone from the symbol in its center, casting itself on every wall like a searchlight before pointing to the left.

Yami Bakura growled. "There's no door here," he said. Was there a secret panel? He went over, feeling along the wall.

"You'd better hurry, Spirit," the White Death said. "Little Ryou needs someone right now, someone he trusts. And I want to get you both in one place for our encounter."

"Good," Yami Bakura snapped. "Then I can kill you." He delivered a swift and sharp kick to the wall, popping it open. Beyond it, a staircase stretched upward. He ran up, the Infinity Ring bouncing against his chest.

"Bakura!" he yelled. "Are you here?" He reached the top, banging on what seemed to be a dead-end. This panel was being far more stubborn, something he did not have the time or patience to deal with. He slammed his full weight against it, then hit it with the palm of his hand. At last it cracked apart, just enough that he could pry it open the rest of the way.

The corridor beyond was empty, but well-lit. He ran down the path, letting the panel slam shut again behind him. Though Bakura was nowhere in sight, his heartbroken weeping was being broadcast over the speakers. It was driving Yami Bakura mad.

No . . . wait. . . . It was not just over the speakers; it was somewhere nearby.

"Bakura!" he called. "Answer me!"

There was a long silence. ". . . I'm here," Bakura weakly said.

"Well, that's helpful," Yami Bakura said sarcastically. He hurried ahead, following the sound of the voice to an open doorway. As he ran through, he stopped short at the sight of the boy kneeling on the floor, brokenly reaching up to grip at his father's shirt. Mr. Bakura was stock still, just as Yami Bakura had feared.

Hearing the footsteps, Bakura turned to look at him, his eyes empty. "I remember, Yami," he whispered. "I remember what I saw. And I understand why you didn't want to tell me."

Yami Bakura swore. But as he stepped closer, the nagging feeling that something was not right only increased. He had only ever seen the White Death stuff white-haired people that he wanted to keep for his collection. The dark-haired murder victims were never given such horrific attention. What was going on here? Had the wretch broken one of his own rules, or . . .

The Infinity Ring pulsed. Yami Bakura stared down at it. "It's sensing something," he said.

Bakura looked at it without emotion. "What?" he asked.

"I don't know." Yami Bakura frowned, raising it to be in front of Mr. Bakura's body. It glowed more frantically. There was something here, something dark and cruelly familiar. . . .

Could it be . . . ?

"Yami, what is it?" Bakura exclaimed, bewildered now. He got to his feet, shaking, staring at the tomb-raider.

Yami Bakura did not answer. He did not want to say anything now, not until he tried something. The Infinity Ring was still so new to him, yet he was no stranger to magical items. And for some reason, it felt like now was a time he could wield its mysterious powers.

"There is a dark force at work here," he growled, more to the Ring than to Bakura. "Release this man from its evil control!"

The Infinity Ring pulsated again, responding to Yami Bakura's commands. A bright light shot forth, enveloping Mr. Bakura in its grasp. Bakura gasped, shielding himself from the glow as he tried to squint through it to see what was happening.

"Yami . . . ?!" he cried. "What are you doing?!"

The Ring thumped against Yami Bakura's chest, the glow fading. Yami Bakura barely noticed, remaining focused on Mr. Bakura's stiff form.

The man's eyes fluttered, then fell shut. He moaned, pitching forward off the platform.

Bakura exclaimed in shock and disbelief, diving forward to catch the suddenly-limp body. "Father?!" he pleaded. "Father, are . . . are you alright?!"

The only reply was another weak groan.

Yami Bakura walked over, inspecting the scene with narrowed eyes. "It's just as I thought," he said. "The White Death never stuffed anyone other than white-haired people." He growled. "He cast a dark spell over your father that froze him in place and made him look dead."

Bakura sank to his knees, cradling his father's upper body. This was so much to try to process. . . . Did he even dare rejoice? Or would something else horrible happen?

"Will . . . will he be alright?" he said at last.

Yami Bakura dropped to one knee, pressing two fingers against Mr. Bakura's neck. "He'll be fine," he grunted. "Let him rest for now. He's never been under the influence of a cruel spell before. It's taken a lot out of him."

Bakura gave a weak nod. Overcome now, he bent over, embracing his father as his shoulders shook.

"If he hadn't stayed," he whispered. "If he'd gone back to traveling, this wouldn't have happened. . . ."

Yami Bakura growled. "If the White Death wanted to use him like this, he would have done so. He wouldn't have let the man leaving stop him." He stood, his eyes flashing with fury. Where was that wretch?! They were both here; he should come out so Yami Bakura could end this once and for all.

"Bravo, Spirit," the hated voice congratulated, breaking into Yami Bakura's thoughts. "Bravo. You figured out my trick. But did you figure out the reason why I did it?"

Yami Bakura whirled to face the nearest speaker. "I'll drop you where you stand for what you've done to Bakura," he vowed. "This is the worst yet!"

"Oh, but I wasn't trying to hurt poor little Ryou," the White Death said. "I wanted to test your powers, Spirit. After all, you've barely scratched the surface of your Infinity Ring's abilities. I wondered if you'd be able to master it at all yet."

Yami Bakura cursed him. "It wouldn't be any of your business if I could," he said.

Bakura trembled. "I hate you," he said, hugging his father close. "I _hate_ you!"

"Oh now, Ryou, don't say that," the White Death said. "After the way James has always kept you from me, I think I've been very merciful to him."

"He didn't do anything wrong!" Bakura wailed.

"Except trusting this wretch in the past," Yami Bakura said. He gripped the Infinity Ring defensively, tense as he remained on guard for any sudden appearance of his enemy.

"Oh well." The White Death did not sound concerned in the least. "Your quest isn't over yet, Spirit. Now you and Ryou have to find me for our meeting. I won't be coming out; I'll be going to the room where I want us to gather."

"You will regret it," Yami Bakura snapped. He had already tried and failed to use the Infinity Ring to track the monster by his own Infinity Item, to no avail. Either he was blocked from using that ability or the Ring could not do it in the first place. But he could find the White Death on his own, without the assistance of the Ring. There were only so many places to hide in this house.

"Why do you want us both there anyway, when you separated us as soon as we arrived?" he demanded now.

"I'll keep you together for my collection," the White Death said. "I upheld my part of the bargain, so now you have to fulfill yours."

"We'll settle this when we get there," Yami Bakura growled. "Neither of us will be joining any collection of yours."

"You'll see, Spirit," the White Death giggled. "You'll see."

Yami Bakura gritted his teeth, his eyes flashing in his outrage.

Bakura was reeling. Now he was torn. He could not leave his father, but he could not leave Yami Bakura, either. What was he going to do?!

"Oh, this is a nightmare," he said. "A never-ending nightmare that I can't wake up from."

"I thought I'd left it behind over a century ago," Yami Bakura snarled. The speaker was silent now. Apparently the White Death did not plan to say more.

Bakura looked down. "That's true," he said sadly. "It's your nightmare too, Yami. . . ."

Yami Bakura stood over him, his eyes dark. "It's worse this time," he said. Unlike before, this time he had someone he was fighting to protect.

Mr. Bakura groaned, moving his hand across the floor. "What happened?" he mumbled.

Bakura perked up, a bit of light returning to his eyes. "Father, are you alright?!" he exclaimed.

Mr. Bakura shakily sat up, adjusting his glasses. "I . . ." He frowned. "I can't remember much at all, except Tuomas breaking in the house. He . . . he said he was going to use me to . . ." He looked to Bakura, fear and distress in his eyes. "Ryou . . ." The haggard and emotionally crushed teen kneeling here was barely recognizable. But it was his son, neglected for so long as he had traveled the world to try to escape his pain.

The thief had been right---he had been running away. He had felt completely unfit to even be Ryou's father, and so he had distanced himself. Ryou had been growing up while he had been away. Now he looked like his spirit had been torn in two.

Bakura stared into his father's loving and guilt-stricken eyes, suddenly unable to control his emotions. "Oh Father . . . !" he cried, collapsing into the man's arms. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. . . ."

Mr. Bakura was stunned. "Ryou . . ." Slowly at first, but then firmly, he pulled the boy close to him. "_You're _sorry?"

Bakura nodded. "Tuomas came here because of me," he sobbed. "He's been hurting everyone---strangers, people I hardly know, my dear friends . . . and now you, Father! It's too much. It's just too much. . . ." His body quaked.

Yami Bakura bent down, speaking low in Mr. Bakura's ear. "He used a dark spell to make you look like the woman in the closet," he growled in explanation.

Mr. Bakura went ashen. "Oh Ryou . . . I can't even imagine what that did to you," he said quietly, holding his son in protective determination. "I can't imagine. . . ." He shook his head in horror.

Yami Bakura straightened. "While this scene is touching, I have an appointment to keep with the White Death," he said. "But I can't leave the two of you here; I wouldn't dare."

Mr. Bakura's eyes narrowed. "You can't take Ryou to something like that!" he objected.

"I have to!" Yami Bakura snapped. "This madman is controlling everything in the house. There are secret panels and traps everywhere that he can bend to his will through the use of his computer. Until I have him right in my sight, I won't risk going against his wishes. It would be too dangerous for Bakura."

Bakura trembled as he pushed himself upright. "And I can't let you go alone, Yami," he said. "But . . ." He looked back to his father, the struggle obvious in his eyes.

Mr. Bakura stared at the boy. Yes, Ryou was growing up. He was so brave and courageous, trying to face his worst fears in order to protect others.

"I'll come with you," he said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew that would not happen.

Bakura bit his lip. "That horrible man only wants Yami and me," he said. "He might hurt you again if you try to come, Father. You don't know what he's capable of!" He trembled. "None of us really knew. . . ."

Mr. Bakura shook his head. "I can't just let the two of you go off to face him alone," he said. "This is my fight too. He's interfered with this family for the last time." A furious edge had crept into his voice. Ryou was right---this was too much. It could not keep going on like this.

Yami Bakura crossed his arms. "He's likely left his control booth, but he probably has a remote," he said. "If you want to help, try to locate his control booth and disable it so thoroughly that the remote will be rendered useless."

Mr. Bakura blinked in surprise, but then nodded. "I'll do it," he said.

Bakura's eyes were filled with concern. "Are you well enough, Father?" he gasped.

"I'm fine," Mr. Bakura assured him. "That whatever-it-was threw me for a loop, but the effects are already passing."

Bakura managed a smile. "Then we're ready," he said. "Let's go."

****

In spite of himself, Bakura could not help but worry as he and Yami set out through the manor several minutes later. He glanced over his shoulder, watching as his father slowly moved in the opposite direction.

"Yami, do you think this is wise?" he worried. "Father still acts sluggish. . . ."

Yami Bakura grunted. "If he feels recovered enough to help us, I don't intend to tell him he can't," he said. "If he can accomplish what he says, he'll be an asset."

Bakura bit his lip. "I suppose. . . ." His shoulders slumped. "I can't help but worry. There's just too many horrible things that have been happening. This is the worst yet, like you said, Yami. And . . . I also can't help but wonder . . . how long will it go on before this madman is brought to justice?" Despairing tears pricked his eyes. "I can't take much more of this."

New hatred for the White Death boiled in Yami Bakura's heart. "I know," he said. "If I'd had my way, he would have never found his Infinity Item so he could torment you in this modern age."

Bakura clenched a fist. "Do we know he just found it?" he said.

Yami Bakura peered at him. "What do you mean?"

"What if Shadi gave it to him?" Bakura said. "I mean . . ." He trailed off.

"He gave one to me, so you wonder if he would have given one to that monster too," Yami Bakura deduced. "And I can't answer that." He glared ahead. "But I have a feeling that he fancies himself an expert on their usage." Unfortunately, he would indeed be more knowledgeable than Yami Bakura if he had been in possession of his for years, and it looked as though it had at least been as far back as Mr. Bakura's college days. It angered and frustrated the thief.

It also puzzled him. Why was the White Death still allowed to keep hold of the Item? He was certainly misusing its power. Wouldn't he have to be concerned the same as Yami Bakura would have to if he was doing the same thing?

Bakura stared uneasily into the rooms, searching for their nemesis. "You're far better than he is, Yami," he said. "And you learned to use a modern computer without too much trouble. Surely mastering the Infinity Ring shouldn't be too hard for you."

"Oh, I'll master it," Yami Bakura said. "But I didn't learn to use that computer in just a few minutes."

He growled in anger as they turned another corner without any success. So far, they had only seen rooms with all kinds of white things imaginable, including several with stuffed animals. The ones with people must be on a different level. But he doubted that the White Death would want to meet in one of the collection rooms. What would he have in mind?

"How many of these rooms did you search?" he asked.

"I looked in all the ones I could find on this floor," Bakura said.

"Were there any other than these kind?" Yami Bakura shut the door on another animal room.

Bakura frowned, thinking. "There was one that seemed to have all sorts of weaponry," he said. "There was some kind of spear on the wall. I remember wondering if it was the one you were talking about, Yami---the one that gets stuck if you're impaled with it." He shuddered.

Yami Bakura perked up. "A weaponry room, eh?" Likely the home of all of the White Death's magical items. Would he want to meet in a place like that? It was possible. "Can you find it again?"

"I can try," Bakura said. "I don't think it was here. . . . I think it was closer to the front of the house. . . ." He looked around the sprawling hallway. "If I can figure out where that is. . . ."

"The Infinity Ring can point the way," Yami Bakura said.

But now the device was silent. The thief glowered down at it, his eyes flashing. "Work!" he commanded. "Show us where to go to find the entrance---and this room!"

The Ring did nothing.

Bakura could not help but gawk. "What on earth is the trouble?" he said.

"The Millennium Ring never behaved like this!" Yami Bakura exclaimed. Angrily he looked up, casting his gaze from one corridor to another. "We'll have to keep trying to find the path ourselves and hope it won't take too long!"

Bakura swallowed nervously. "I think I remember passing that suit of armor," he ventured, pointing to the nearest hallway to the right.

Yami Bakura looked it up and down. "Fine," he said. "Let's go."

At first nothing looked familiar and the duo aimlessly wandered, Yami Bakura muttering curses while Bakura searched for any landmark that would tell them without a doubt where they were going. But then a flash of gold caught his eye. He walked closer to the doorway, peering inside the richly-furnished room.

"Yami!" he cried. "This is it. Look, there's the spear!"

Yami Bakura hastened to the doorway, looking into the room as well. Bakura was right---what looked like the Eon Spear of Viking legend was suspended horizontally on the wall. Other rumored magical items---from pendants to jewelry to weapons---were hanging on hooks and on display in glass cabinets on every side of the room.

The Infinity Ring glowed, reacting to something inside the private museum. In return, several of the objects inside lit up.

With narrowed eyes Yami Bakura stepped into the room, Bakura right beside him. It looked empty, but was that the truth? Or was the White Death cleverly concealed?

They had no sooner gotten beyond the doorway when the door slammed. Both of them jumped a mile and then whirled, Yami Bakura brandishing the Infinity Ring.

A horrible man in a white suit and tophat strolled out to them, his hands in his pockets. Around his neck he wore a mysterious star pendant with the infinity symbol in the middle.

"I'm so glad you could come," said the White Death. "Neither of you will ever leave this manor now."

Yami Bakura's eyes went cold. "We'll see about that," he said. "Maybe it will be you who will never leave."

Bakura looked back and forth between the opponents, his heart churning. It was the first time he had seen the White Death in almost thirteen years. But after the terror the madman had already caused through his voice and his unseen actions, actually seeing him did not seem as much of a horror as it otherwise would.

Or at least, he thought so at first. But as the two Infinity Items glowed, eerily casting their users in shadow, terror struck his poor heart. He breathed a frantic prayer for his Yami's safety.

"This will be the ultimate penalty game," Yami Bakura growled.

"Winner take all?" the White Death suggested. "I will enjoy adding your Infinity Ring to this collection of mine." He grinned. "But more especially, I will enjoy adding you and Ryou to my _other_ collection."

Yami Bakura's eyes burned with a fire Bakura had never before seen. For the first time that he could remember, he would be playing a penalty game to protect another's life. He was not sure he was prepared for it. But there was no way around it; he _had_ to be prepared.

"You will regret those words," he said.

The White Death, vaguely amused, merely raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Yami Bakura gripped the Infinity Ring.

"I will _not_ fail!"


	12. Penalty Game

**Notes: For those who have read the last part of this chapter as a blurb, some things have been changed or tweaked from the first draft.**

**Chapter Twelve**

Bakura could only stand by helplessly as the purplish clouds encircled the room and its three occupants. He stepped back, his heart racing, The two Infinity Items were still glowing, emitting silver beams that met in mid-air. Yami Bakura and the White Death stared at each other, neither's gaze faltering as their Items' power crashed. Bakura did not dare speak, afraid of breaking his Yami's concentration.

He had hoped the days of penalty games had ended with the burial of the Millennium Items. But here they were, starting another one. And Yami Bakura was fighting for both their freedom and for the White Death's defeat. Bakura had stood by one other time, watching as the ancient thief had protected him. Did he have to stand by now? Was there anything he could do to join the fight? Without an Item, he could not do much.

What would happen if he took one of the magical items in the room and tried to use it to help his Yami? He really shouldn't, especially when he did not know what the majority of them did or how any of them would react to him abruptly attempting to wield them. He might only cause a bigger problem instead of helping. But oh! how he hated just standing here, watching their mental battle!

Without warning the White Death's laughter shattered the silence. "Good, Spirit! Good!" he exclaimed. "I'd say we are evenly matched."

"I haven't even begun to fight," Yami Bakura growled.

"Nor I," said the White Death. "I think it's time to . . . up the ante."

The floor rippled. Bakura gasped, his eyes widening. Yami Bakura looked down, his gaze locked on the misty ground. Suddenly a grotesque, clawed hand reached up, snatching hold of his ankle.

"Yami!" Bakura exclaimed in horror.

Yami Bakura gritted his teeth, staring at the apparition. "What is the meaning of this?!" he demanded.

A bony hand emerged from the shadows, gripping Bakura's shoulder. The boy cried out, clawing to pull it off. Instead it leaped free of its own accord, wagging a finger at Bakura in mid-air before lunging and grabbing his throat. Panic rose in his heart as he grabbed to pull it away.

Yami Bakura looked back to the White Death, fighting to keep hold of his concentration even while the claws dug into his leg. "Leave Bakura out of this!" he snarled. "This penalty game is between me and you."

The White Death looked to the skeletal hand, which was still squeezing Bakura's throat while the teen frantically tried to pull it away. "Let go of poor Ryou," he ordered.

The hand loosened and moved away, patting a stunned Bakura on the head before suspending itself in mid-air to wait for further instructions. Bakura choked and coughed, gulping in air.

Yami Bakura looked to him, then back to the White Death. "You claim that you would never harm him," he said. "Are you really so twisted that you don't even know that's what you've been doing?! You may have not physically hurt the boy, but I can assure you that you've harmed him. To say nothing of your pathetic shadow creature trying to strangle him now."

"My Infinity Star can summon all kinds of creatures, but I can't predict what they'll do," the White Death said, ignoring the rest of Yami Bakura's words.

"A pale excuse," Yami Bakura growled. He shook his leg, attempting to remove the insistent parasite of a creature's hand. It only dug deeper into his flesh. He cursed, kicking at it with his other foot before bending down to forcefully pry it away with both hands.

"Having a little trouble, Thief?" the White Death mused. "I could help you out as I helped Ryou."

"I don't need or want your help!" Yami Bakura shot back. He straightened, having been unsuccessful in pulling the thing away. "But I have to wonder---are these creatures here at all? Or are they only figments of the mind?"

The White Death blinked, then grinned. "Why not find out?" he said. "Let's see how much damage they can cause if they're only figments."

"NO!" Bakura burst out in panicked horror.

Yami Bakura glowered at his enemy. "Maybe if we ignore them, they'll go away," he said.

"Or that one will take your foot off," the White Death smirked.

"Would you really want to display me that way?" Yami Bakura grunted.

"I could always sew it back on," the White Death said with a shrug. "But . . . oh well . . . you're right, Thief. Pay them no heed and they can't stay."

Bakura stared as both monstrous hands vanished. Then his shoulders slumped in relief.

The White Death seemed unconcerned. "This was the only the first round." He reached for the Eon Spear on the wall. "I was thinking it would be fun to spar a little," he said. "There's another spear on the opposite wall."

Yami Bakura narrowed his eyes. "And how do I know you won't try to lead me into a trap by making me use a magic weapon I know nothing about?" he retorted. "Sparring in a penalty game wouldn't be a simple matter."

"You don't know," the White Death grinned. "And you're right about it not being simple. But you're so expert with magical items, I'm sure you won't have any problems." He lunged with the Eon Spear, forcing Yami Bakura to jump back.

"Fine!" the thief snapped, moving to the side to grab the bronze item off the wall. As soon as he touched it, a strange force channeled into his hand. He stiffened, staring down at it.

Bakura hurried to him. "Yami?!" he exclaimed. "What is it?"

Yami Bakura glowered at the strange spear. "I don't know," he said.

"Isn't there anything I can do to help?!" the boy cried in anguish.

"It's too dangerous to try to use items you know nothing about," Yami Bakura answered. As the White Death charged again, Yami Bakura took hold of his weapon with both hands and crashed it against the other spear. Then he braced himself, leaning all of his weight into the object as he tried to force the White Death off his feet. "I don't want to risk your safety in that way," he said to Bakura through gritted teeth.

"But I don't want to see you risking yours!" Bakura retorted. "This is both our fight. I want to help!"

"You should listen to the spirit, dear Ryou," the White Death said. "He doesn't want anything to happen to you. I don't, either."

"Oh, you want something to happen to me," Bakura said. "The most horrible thing that could happen!"

The White Death did not respond. Instead he concentrated on the fight, pushing against Yami Bakura's spear. A cruel sneer spread across his features as the tomb-robber stumbled. The bronze spear glowed.

"You know the legends of the Eon Spear, I trust," he said.

Yami Bakura steadied himself and lunged again, the weapons locking as they met. "What's your point?" he snapped.

"There is rumored to be a way to save the victims even if you don't have a magical item," mused the White Death. "But you have to be very special for it to work."

Yami Bakura snorted. "I'm sure," he said.

The White Death pulled the Eon Spear away and then swiped at Yami Bakura's legs without warning, trying to knock him down. Yami Bakura leaped out of the way barely in time, his eyes cold and his overall expression unimpressed.

"It's the stuff of fairytales," the White Death said as the Eon Spear glowed. "Of course, magical items to begin with are the stuff of fairytales, aren't they?"

Yami Bakura responded by swinging the bronze spear. The White Death jumped back. A smirk spread over his features as the thief's spear glowed.

Bakura looked back and forth between them. "Why does one of them glow whenever the other person gets the upper hand?!" he cried.

"You noticed, little Ryou," the White Death said, pleased. "You feel energy going into your body, don't you, Spirit?" he exclaimed.

Yami Bakura growled. "What kind of energy is it?" he demanded. "In a penalty game, I would think energy would leave instead of come!"

"But what if you can't control the energy that's coming?" the White Death grinned.

Yami Bakura's eyes widened. "What?!"

As if on cue, the spear shot forward, pulling him with it. The White Death cackled, cracking spears with him again. Yami Bakura snarled.

"You don't seem to be affected," he said as he got his footing. "Perhaps you're already so far gone I just can't tell."

Bakura gaped. "Yami, that didn't happen when you first picked up the spear and it glowed," he said.

"That's true," Yami Bakura frowned. "But something most certainly entered my body." He glared at the White Death. "Perhaps whatever-it-was was getting a foothold and the energy is strengthening it?"

"Perhaps." The White Death sneered at him. "Perhaps it will keep coming until you are no longer in control of any of your actions, but it controls you instead."

Yami Bakura clutched the spear tighter. He could not help but be reminded of Zorc with this twist. Was something sentient what was trying to get a foothold? And would he even realize it? He had not realized at first that part of Zorc's spirit had latched onto his own. What if that had deadened him so much that he would not recognize it happening again? After all, once he had understood what Zorc had been doing, it had felt alien to not have him there.

But on the other hand, now that he knew again what it was like to fully be in control of his own spirit, maybe he would recognize all the more what it was like to not have that control. His body was currently moving against his will, dragging him in one direction, then another. And he did not like it one bit.

"Be gone from me!" he growled, attempting to throw the spear. But his fingers would not uncurl from around it.

The White Death observed, highly enjoying the futile struggle. "It's not so easy to throw something away in this penalty game," he said. "As long as it wants to stay with you, it will."

Yami Bakura narrowed his eyes. "I still find it odd that you're not having any problems," he said. "In a penalty game, the same consequences are supposed to stand for both players. This game seems to have tipped everything in your favor. Your Item creates illusions that attack Bakura and me. This bronze spear is supposed to be taking over my body, while yours does nothing to you."

"What's your point, Spirit?" asked the White Death.

Yami Bakura pointed his forefinger at the other. "I believe we're still in an illusion now," he said. "Either the damage done in general is in our minds, or else it's real and you're being affected too. I didn't think I could grow any more disgusted with you than I already was, but I was wrong. Even during my escapades in the past, I didn't try to make it look like I wasn't being affected by the Shadow Games if I was."

"Maybe it's real and all three of us are suffering damage and dealing it out," the White Death said without skipping a beat.

Bakura stared. "What?"

Suddenly he lunged, swinging a punch at the White Death, who easily sidestepped. The bronze spear glowed again. This time it burned fire into Yami Bakura's hands. He dropped it with a cry.

Bakura whirled, his eyes wide and horrified. "Yami!" he exclaimed. "What happened?!"

Yami Bakura gritted his teeth. "For some reason, your failed attack resulted in me being harmed," he said. "I don't know why."

"That's one downside of both of you wanting and trying to defeat me," the White Death said. "In this game, you might only end up hindering each other!"

Bakura regarded him in sickened alarm. "I wasn't even trying to do anything!" he said. "My body was moving by itself. And I don't even have one of those spears!"

"Your strong desire to help the spirit is what caused the spear's power to grab hold of you, too," the White Death said. "And it's not an illusion that I haven't been affected by my spear's energy yet. My Infinity Star absorbs the power! Now, if only you could master yours enough to get it to do the same, Spirit."

Yami Bakura growled. "You underestimate me," he said. "If that's the way the game is to be played, then I will do it."

"But isn't that cheating?!" Bakura cried. "There must be another way." He looked to the tomb-raider pleadingly. "Yami, I don't want to see you stoop to his level in any way."

Yami Bakura looked back to him. "Then what do you suggest I do instead?" he retorted.

Bakura's shoulders slumped. "I don't know," he said.

"Perhaps utilizing the Infinity Items is the only solution," Yami Bakura said. He concentrated, focusing all of his energy into the Infinity Ring. The other force was protesting, trying to make him stop, but he would not let it control him. He would not let anything control him again! He was his own person, in charge of his own body and his own destiny.

The mysterious presence held fast. It felt like it was holding onto his very heart and soul, digging sharp claws into his spirit. He gritted his teeth in pain. "Be gone," he hissed.

The Ring glowed brighter. As Yami Bakura's will battled with that of the alien force, he could feel it clinging to his spirit in desperation. It was frantic not to be dislodged. But Yami Bakura would not stand for it. He fought harder, gritting his teeth against the pain. This would be nothing compared to what he had already gone through with Zorc. At last the presence ripped free from him, swirling through the air and then back into the fallen spear. Yami Bakura dropped to one knee, clutching his heart.

Bakura ran to him, his eyes wide. "Yami!" he cried. "Are you alright?!"

Yami Bakura looked up at him, one eye closed as he fought off the pain. "Fine," he growled.

The White Death watched, intrigued. "You are truly fascinating, Spirit," he proclaimed. "I have to say, it will be a shame to have to silence you for my collection. But I know I could never get you into it otherwise."

Yami Bakura took up the bronze spear, standing and whirling in the same moment and charging at his opponent. Before the White Death could even react, the Eon Spear was being knocked from his hands. It soared across the room, clattering near Bakura's feet. He jumped back, not wanting anything to do with the thing.

Yami Bakura swung the bronze spear again, sending the White Death flying off his feet. As he sat down hard on the floor, Yami Bakura positioned the point of the weapon at his neck. "Now," he said, his voice cold, "we're going to play the penalty game _my_ way."

The White Death stared up at him, the fascination obvious in his expression. But was there a hint of fear as well? There should be.

"Of course, Spirit," he said.

His voice was far too agreeable. Suddenly the Infinity Star glowed, sending a burst of light directly at Yami Bakura. He growled, shielding his eyes from the glare. The White Death took the opportunity to slip out from the point of the spear, kicking the thief in the stomach as he got to his feet. Yami Bakura snarled, whipping around with the spear in hand.

The bright light faded as Bakura cried out in horror. The White Death had managed to get over to the boy, who had also been temporarily blinded by the beam. Now he was embracing Bakura, stroking the long, white locks.

"Your hair is so beautiful, dear Ryou," he said softly. "Won't you agree to join my collection without suffering the fate of those before you? I really want to keep you alive, to be able to talk to you and have you to keep me company while I admire your hair."

"No!" Bakura yelled. He was fighting to push him away, panic in his voice and in his eyes. "No, you'll have to kill me to make me part of your collection. I'll never join you otherwise!"

The White Death gripped him tighter. "We had an agreement," he said. "You said you would bring me the thief and come as well."

"I said it to save my father!" Bakura retorted.

"Oh, don't be this way, little Ryou," the White Death said. "I love your hair so much. Can't we get along?" He crushed Bakura against his chest.

The boy screamed again. "No. _NO!_" He fought harder, clawing in desperation as he kicked the treacherous man in the shin.

The White Death winced, but struggled to keep hold of him. "Then I'm sorry, little Ryou," he said. "This has to be the end." He pressed an arm against the back of Bakura's neck to get him in a fatal headlock.

And Yami Bakura snapped. "I told you to leave him _alone!_" he roared as he charged. He could not blast the other with the Infinity Ring. It would be too risky with Bakura right there. But he struck the White Death furiously over the head with the bronze spear. The man loosened his grip, stunned. Before he could recover, Yami Bakura slammed the staff of the weapon into his jaw. There was a sickening _crack._

Bakura stumbled back, his heart still pounding. "Yami!" he exclaimed.

Yami Bakura did not listen. He kicked the White Death in the stomach, sending him to the floor. Then he lunged once more, striking the wretch on the side of the head. Hands flew up in desperation, grabbing for the weapon, but Yami Bakura refused to let it go. He hit one hand with the spear's staff, then the other, his eyes wild.

The White Death screamed in pain, falling back flat on the floor. Yami Bakura placed one foot on his stomach and pressed down. His teeth were clenched in a mad grimace as he brought the point of the spear to the White Death's throat.

"I've had enough of the sorrow and heartache you've brought to this boy," he said. "Forget the mind games; I want to end this once and for all right now. You'll never torment us again. Once your physical body is dead, I'll banish your spirit to the world of shadows. And I'll relieve you of your Infinity Item as well. You will never return!"

The White Death stared up at him. Blood choked to his lips, slipping down his cracked jaw. He was breathing heavily, in pain from the pressure Yami Bakura was applying to his chest. But his eyes still bore a horrid glint. He was not finished yet.

"You love dear Ryou, don't you," he hissed. "Well . . . I wonder how much. And I wonder whether . . ." He did not finish his sentence. Weakly he raised a hand off the floor, his palm up. Then he turned it over and moved it back in a gesture of pulling some invisible thing towards him.

Yami Bakura's eyes widened slightly. "What are you . . ."

"Yami!" Bakura interrupted. "Yami, look out!" He dove forward, frantic, but he could not stop the object sailing through the air. He fell to the floor as it sped out of his reach.

The pain stabbed into Yami Bakura's lower back, through his middle, and out his waist. Then it was on fire, burning more every moment. He gasped, the blood rising in his throat. He spat it out as he stared down at himself in disbelief. The Eon Spear was now sticking half-out of his body. Crimson was pooling from the wound and dripping off the staff and the point of the weapon. He had never experienced an injury like this. He stumbled away from the White Death, suddenly dizzy.

Somewhere in his mind, he could hear two things---the White Death cackling in crazed delight and Bakura screaming in horror. He blinked the spots away from his eyes. Bakura was struggling to get up and run to him. But he was cruelly kicked back down as the White Death stood instead.

"At last," the serial killer exclaimed, his eyes wild. "There's no way you can escape from this. Being an item bearer yourself, you cannot remove the Eon Spear. There's only one act capable of saving you, but it won't work for you. I've longed for centuries to have you as part of my collection. Now you and dear Ryou will both be in it. You will be the centerpieces!" The madman grabbed for Bakura.

Yami Bakura's eyes flamed. "Burn!" he retorted. His body was screaming for release. But against all odds, he forced himself to straighten. The Infinity Ring glowed around his neck. Then it let loose with a bright, painful blast, sending the White Death flying off his feet and across the room.

Bakura looked in shock, his heart racing. The man's own Infinity Item was glowing now, even as he tried to pull himself upright from where he had crashed near his wall of artifacts.

"It's no use to resist, Thief!" he cried. "You're mine. You're both mine!"

He burst into another round of mad cackling. But it quickly changed to screams of terror and pain. His item, long-infuriated with its power being abused, was inflicting long-overdue punishment. Flames engulfed him, even as he reached out a frantic, desperate hand.

"Help me!" he begged. "I'm burning alive. Please . . . !"

Yami Bakura narrowed his eyes, while Bakura stared in horror. There was nothing that could be done. Even as he continued to scream, the White Death's body burned until it could no longer be seen through the wall of flames. When the cries stopped, the fire slowed, then went out. The purple clouds vanished at the same time, bringing them back into the brightly-lit museum room, but neither of the survivors really noticed.

Bakura looked away from the horrible sight of the charred form, shaking. But even as he turned to face his Yami, who was staring at the scene and breathing heavily, the man collapsed on his side.

Bakura scrambled to his feet in an instant. "Yami!" he wailed. _"YAMI!"_ He ran over, being careful of the slippery blood on the floor as he crashed to his knees beside the tomb-robber. With both hands he took hold of the spear's staff, desperate to pull the horrible thing out of the gasping and heaving form. But no matter how he fought with it, it remained firm and stuck.

"Don't." A shaking hand reached up, resting on Bakura's curled fingers.

The boy stared numbly, not comprehending. "I have to get it out!" he cried.

"You can't." Yami Bakura coughed again. Blood trailed down his jaw and onto his neck before making its way down his shirt.

Bakura refused to listen. He pulled with all his might. But then he was forced to let go. A cry of anguish tore from his lips as electricity was channeled into his hands.

Yami Bakura clenched a fist. Bakura's pained scream was hurting him more than the spear.

"Why is it stuck?!" Bakura cried. "Why is it doing this?!"

"Remember? That's . . ." Yami Bakura groaned. "That's the power of the Eon Spear. It's a very effective way to kill one's enemies. Only the murderer may remove it. . . . Unless you also possess a magical item and are not the victim. . . ." But what had the White Death meant by his other statement, about one act that could save him, but that would not work? . . . What on earth could save him now? And if anything potentially could, why wouldn't it work for him?

Bakura gathered the slackening body in his arms, tears brimming to the surface. "So I have to just let you die?!" he burst out. "After everything we've been through, you . . . you're dying?!" His soul had been shredded so many times during this horror. Now this was adding to it a hundredfold. The memories were flashing through his mind---the thief coming into his room, torn and at the point of death. . . . Bakura's prayer . . . Shadi . . . the Infinity Ring. . . . Their first meeting with his father. . . . Quilt wars when they tried to share the bed out of necessity. . . . Spicy gravy and horrible table manners. . . . Yami Bakura fighting to save him from this madman. . . .

Yami Bakura was silent. ". . . At least . . . this time my soul won't be torn in shreds," he said. "I'll pass to whatever afterlife awaits me. . . ."

Bakura sobbed, being careful of the spear as he cradled the old thief close to him.

"You . . . you're crying for me?" Yami Bakura was stunned. And yet in another way, he was not. Of course Bakura---kind, gentle Bakura---would cry for him, if anyone would. "Now, none of that." He reached up shakily, brushing the falling tears away. "Don't waste your energy mourning a robber and a murderer such as me."

Bakura stared at him through the insistent crystalline drops. "Yami . . ."

"Whatever happens to me, I deserve." Yami Bakura rested his head against Bakura's shoulder. "And you will finally be free. Your father is alive. . . . Maybe he will stay with you now, as he should. . . ."

_"No!" _Bakura could not stop crying. "No, Yami. . . . No. . . ." He trembled. "I want you here, too! You can't die! You . . . you were going to be allowed to live, to have a second chance. . . ."

"I did. Shadi was right, Bakura. . . . I did learn something from you." His last smirk twisted his tired lips before fading to a pained gasp. "I learned that even after three thousand years of hate, I could still find something I wanted to protect. And I succeeded."

Bakura was shaking, even as he stared in stunned surprise. "Yami . . ."

"I'm sorry I couldn't teach you anything, but . . . I knew there wouldn't be anything you could learn from me. . . ." The slanted brown eyes fell closed. "Live, Bakura. . . . Live. . . ."

Now Bakura was still, not comprehending. His heart gathered speed, pounding in his chest. The Infinity Ring glowed one last time. Yami Bakura was unable to control his form any longer. The weight in Bakura's arms grew heavier as the thief reverted to the way he had looked in mortality.

It was the final blow. Bakura knew what that meant. He knew, but he did not want to believe.

"Yami . . . that isn't true," he whispered, shattered and numb. "You taught me so much. . . . I learned how to stand up for myself. I learned redemption." The tears flowed again as he held the lifeless body close.

"I learned that after three thousand years of hate, even someone like you can love and be loved.

"I love you, Yami! I _love _you. Please . . . please don't leave me. . . . Don't leave. . . ."

He sobbed again, laying a hand in the wild whitish-lavender hair. He was heartbroken.


	13. Inscription

**Chapter Thirteen**

Yami Bakura stared down at Bakura from where he was now standing to the side of the teen, a mixture of stunned shock, frustration, and regret on his features all at once. He had not wanted this. He had wanted to live, not to be killed by that madman. And he had most certainly not wanted to add to Bakura's suffering.

This new revelation of Bakura's true feelings was a surprise . . . and yet in another way, perhaps deep down he had known. Just as he had known of his own feelings but had tried to deny them. He saw Bakura as . . . well, he was not quite sure as _what,_ but as someone who should be protected and cared about.

"Bakura . . ." He reached for the boy, but his hand passed through. Since they had each had a separate body, they no longer had their mental bond. He could not communicate and let Bakura know that he was still there.

Why was he, anyway? He had thought he would go on to the afterlife. For him to still be here . . . did that mean something still bound him to the mortal world? And if so, would that be his own will to remain . . . or something else?

His shoulders slumped as he growled and ran a hand through his hair. "Blast. I'm sorry. . . ."

A finger tapped him on the shoulder. "You're not alone here, Spirit," an unwelcome voice purred.

Yami Bakura turned, his eyes darkening at the sight of the White Death, smug and angering as ever. "You're a spirit now, too," he pointed out. "And I'll still finish our conflict. I told you I would banish you to the shadows."

The White Death grinned. "Then let's bring our battle to an end once and for all," he said. "Meanwhile, I wonder if little Ryou will unlock the secret to saving you."

"You said it wouldn't help me," Yami Bakura reminded him.

"I didn't think it would," the White Death said. "But you're both full of surprises. If anyone can save you, dear Ryou can."

Yami Bakura gave him a look of annoyance. "Spare me this tired 'dear Ryou' nonsense," he said. "You don't really care about the boy. You're just obsessed with his hair."

"Oh, I care about him," the White Death returned. "I care about him very much."

"You don't even know the meaning of the word," Yami Bakura said. _I myself have only scoffed at caring for centuries. Yet here I am, brought to this because of caring about another. And Bakura is heart-broken because of caring for me._ He could still hear the boy's grief-stricken cries even while focusing on his hated nemesis. It was the first time he could ever remember anyone weeping over him.

"Let's save this debate for later," sneered the White Death. "We have a fight to finish."

"There won't be a later for you," Yami Bakura said. The ghost of the Infinity Ring glowed around his neck. And he noticed something---the White Death was not bearing the ghost of the Infinity Star. The Item had abandoned him.

In spite of that, the wretch still looked confident. "You're only just beginning to comprehend the power you wear," he said. "Can you command its shadow?"

Yami Bakura just glowered. "Of course I can," he said.

Oblivious to the battle going on right near him, Bakura trembled, still holding the Thief King's body in his arms. He looked up, shuddering as the warm red liquid trailed over his hands. That horrible spear was sticking out of the limp form, the poor man's blood dripping down from the point and over the staff.

Bakura's eyes narrowed. Somehow he had to get it out. He could not leave Yami Bakura impaled like that. Even though he was already gone, it would just seem so wrong and disrespectful. But how would he ever get it out?! It had started electrocuting him when he had tried before. And he did not know anyone who still possessed a magical item, who would be exempt from the punishing lightning.

"What am I ever going to do?" he whispered.

He blinked in surprise as something odd caught his eye. Where the blood was running over the staff of the spear, indentions had started to appear. But they were not mere scratches or notches; they almost looked like . . .

He gasped. "An inscription?" he said. "What on earth. . . ."

He tilted his head to the side, squinting as he struggled to decipher the ancient writing. It did not look like what he had seen of Scandinavian languages. In fact, it did not look like anything he had seen before at all. Still, if he used his imagination a bit, some of the words looked vaguely like words he knew. . . . Maybe, if they were written exactly as they sounded. . . .

"Old English?" he breathed. The Vikings had conquered England, he knew. Many of their words had become ingrained in the English language. It was conceivable that a Viking weapon could have writing in Old English. But if that was it, what did it say?

He tried sounding out the words, but some of them still did not sound right. He frowned, pondering. Maybe he was pronouncing them incorrectly, as far as the old language was concerned. And there were the many dialects to take into consideration, too. Various groups of people pronounced the same words vastly different.

"What a sloppy language it was!" he exclaimed in frustration and tried again.

Several attempts later he managed to piece together some semblance of what it might be saying. But the frown did not leave his features; it still did not make sense to him. He read the possible translation aloud once more.

"'If you wish to save the victim, you must come with your heart and risk your life.'"

He leaned back, still supporting the lifeless body as the limp head and neck rested against his shoulder. "Come with your heart and risk your life?"

The White Death's mocking words flashed back to his mind. _"There is rumored to be a way to save the victims even if you don't have a magical item. But you have to be very special for it to work._

_"It's the stuff of fairytales. Of course, magical items to begin with are the stuff of fairytales, aren't they?"_

"Very special," Bakura repeated, his heart racing in his chest. "Fairytales. . . ." He bit his lip. Fairytales usually had certain elements and recurring themes. If someone was dead or dying, the way to save them was generally . . .

His eyes widened. "Love!" he exclaimed. "You have to sincerely love the victim. . . ." Fairytales mainly dealt with romantic love, but . . . could any kind of love work? He had come to love Yami Bakura in a way he could not explain, but it was a way he knew was true.

And risk your life. . . . Could that possibly refer to what had started happening when he had tried to pull the spear out? Maybe if he could endure the pain of the electrocution long enough, he could remove it. It might already be too late, but he had to try. He _had_ to.

Gently he laid the Egyptian down on his side, then took a deep breath. "Oh please let this work!" he prayed, grabbing hold of the spear with both hands. As he fought to pull it out, the electricity channeled into his hands again. He screamed in anguish. It felt like his entire body was on fire. But he would not give up. He could never give up! He pulled harder.

Still locked in battle with the White Death, Yami Bakura looked over with a start. "Bakura?!" he exclaimed, though he knew he could not be heard. "What are you doing?!"

The White Death looked over too. "He's either desperate or he knows the secret," he mused.

"Pulling it out is the secret?!" Yami Bakura burst out. Bakura was only hurting himself! There was no way to remove the spear. If too much electricity went into his body, then . . .

"Stop it!" Yami Bakura yelled. "You fool, _stop!_ It's suicide!"

Bakura screamed again. Now he was breathing heavily, his skin a definite sickly shade and his eyes glassy. But he only gripped the spear tighter.

"No," the White Death said, "pulling it out isn't the secret, exactly. He has to love you enough to want to risk his life for you. And that's exactly what he's doing."

Yami Bakura clenched a fist. "Will he die?" he demanded roughly.

"Well," the White Death said, "I guess we'll just have to see. Just think, if he does, he can join us. Maybe I can enjoy his hair yet."

It was the wrong answer. Yami Bakura snarled, the Infinity Ring glowing brighter. "'We' won't be waiting at all," he said. "Nor will you ever have the chance to 'enjoy his hair.' I'm going to him. And you're going into the shadows."

"You haven't been able to cast the spell so far," sneered the White Death.

"As always, you underestimate me," Yami Bakura answered. "This time the Infinity Ring will respond to me. Join the spirits who walk the earth shrouded in darkness!"

Mists swirled around the White Death, even as he cried out in horror and fear. Yami Bakura was making good on his promise; the White Death vanished into the fog.

He turned, looking back to Bakura. Then his eyes widened in shock. The impossible had happened---the spear's position had definitely been altered. And it was still moving now. The more Bakura fought with it, even as electricity crackled through his hands and up his arms, the more the weapon slid out of the fatally-wounded body. The moment it came free, clattering on the floor, Bakura swayed, collapsing next to his dear friend.

Yami Bakura ran over, alarm and fear in his eyes. "Bakura . . ." he gasped. He cursed. Could he get back in his body? Could he ensure that Bakura would live?

He dived towards his own muscular, tanned form. As he touched it, he phased through.

Lavender eyes snapped open. All at once the horrific pain from the wound was upon him, forcing him to stay aware of it. But he did not care. He turned to look at the still boy laying next to him, panic twisting his revived heart. Bakura's eyes were closed, his skin a deathly pale.

"Bakura," Yami Bakura rasped. Weakly he grabbed hold of the shoulder, giving it a firm, worried shake. "Bakura, wake up!" he snapped. _"Wake up!"_

There was no answer. Yami Bakura swore, reaching for the motionless teen and drawing him into his arms.

"Don't do this," he said, his gruff voice almost pleading. "I didn't go through the whole business with the spear just for you to die saving me. I _told_ you I wasn't worth it. I told you, you fool. . . ."

"But . . . you're wrong, Yami," a weak voice answered. "Of course you're worth it. You mean so much to me. . . . So very much. . . ."

Yami Bakura stiffened. Bakura's eyes opened halfway. He smiled as he brought his arms around the old thief. "You're back," he whispered in joy. "You're alive. . . ."

"Well, of course I am!" Yami Bakura retorted. "Because of your actions. You almost _died._"

Bakura blinked, drawn back to full awareness. "I saved you, Yami . . . and your first thought upon reviving was for me. We both made it." He sat up, worried as he looked to the gaping wound in the other's abdomen. But then he gasped in surprise again. The hole was closing, the flesh knitting together as if nothing had ever happened.

No . . . not as if nothing had happened. It was leaving a scar. A reminder.

Yami Bakura sat up too, then winced, grabbing at the exit wound. Bakura looked to him, worried. "Yami, are you alright?!" he exclaimed.

"Of course I'm alright," Yami Bakura growled. But the spot where the spear had plunged through was still throbbing. Apparently the wound was allowed to mend, yet the area would stay tender for a while. And the scar would always be there. But he did not care about that.

"It still hurts, doesn't it," Bakura said in surprise. "I thought it would heal completely. . . ."

"It will, over time," Yami Bakura said. "Let's find your father and go." He moved to stand, but there was nothing near enough that he could grab for balance. His hand clawed at thin air.

Bakura got to his feet and took hold of Yami Bakura's wrist. "Here," he said quietly.

Yami Bakura looked to him, accepting the help as he stumbled to his feet. He could not stand up straight. He half-doubled over, still clutching the area of the wound.

Bakura draped Yami Bakura's left arm around his shoulders. "Let's go," he said, still in that same, quiet tone.

Yami Bakura nodded, leaning against Bakura as he took a step forward.

As they began to walk away from the weapons room, he glanced back at the burned body of the White Death. What looked like a bit of silver was still around the neck, but then it was gone. The Infinity Star was either destroyed or it had left of its own accord.

The Infinity Ring was still against his own chest. He certainly did not believe he had misused it, but whether he had or had not, it was still here. He still had a physical body. And thanks to Bakura's determination and bravery, he still had his second chance.

A sound on the steps brought them both to attention. Mr. Bakura was coming down as quickly as he could, seeming recovered from the last effects of the dark spell. His eyes widened in astonishment to see Bakura supporting the Thief King. In addition to still getting used to the character's ability to change his appearance, it was a shock to see that he looked hurt. Actually, both he and Ryou looked completely worn out.

"Ryou!" Mr. Bakura exclaimed. "What happened?!"

Bakura looked up, managing a weak smile. "It's a long story, Father," he said. "The important thing is we're alive and well."

Yami Bakura looked too. "Did you shut down the house's computer?" he demanded.

Mr. Bakura nodded, dazed. "The whole house was starting to lock down," he said. "Tuomas was determined to keep us here. But I was able to reverse it."

"Good." Yami Bakura tried to straighten up. "The White Death is dead."

Mr. Bakura stared at him. "How?!" he demanded.

"He had one of these. It turned against him." Yami Bakura indicated the silver Infinity Item around his neck.

Mr. Bakura gawked. ". . . I see," he said at last, though he really did not.

"Let's just go," Yami Bakura growled.

Bakura nodded. "You and Father both need to rest, Yami," he said.

"You look run ragged yourself, Ryou," his father said in concern. "I hope you're planning to tell me this 'long story.'"

"When we're home," Bakura promised.

"How are we getting home, anyway?" Mr. Bakura wondered.

Bakura's eyes widened. "Oh my!" he gasped. "We left that cab driver waiting outside! And he was going to call the police in an hour! It's surely been over that by now."

"It's a little late for the police," Yami Bakura said. "And there isn't much left for the undertaker, either."

Mr. Bakura looked disturbed. "Do I want to know what that . . . _thing_ did to him?" he said.

"Probably not," Yami Bakura said.

"What are we even going to tell the police?!" Bakura exclaimed.

Yami Bakura growled. "Let's tell them nothing," he said. "A mysteriously burned body won't go over well."

Mr. Bakura stopped and stared again. "We can't tell them nothing," he objected. "And his body _burned?!_"

"I'll send it to the Shadow Realm," Yami Bakura growled. "Where it belongs." He turned back to the room, the Infinity Ring glowing once more as he concentrated. While both Bakura and his father gaped, the White Death's remains vanished in a purple fog.

Mr. Bakura turned to stare at the Egyptian. "What did you do?!" he burst out.

"I told you," Yami Bakura said irritably. He slumped further against Bakura. He had really not felt well enough to exert himself yet; sending things to the Shadow Realm took a good deal of mental energy, and he had already been drained. But considering the alternate options, sending the body to the Shadow Realm had seemed the best choice in spite of the consequences.

Bakura swallowed, looking at the thief in concern. "Yami, you shouldn't have done that," he said. "You're hurt. . . ."

"I'm fine," Yami Bakura retorted. "Let's go already."

Bakura and his father were quite agreeable to that. The three of them headed to the front door and outside to the porch. The snow was still coming down; what looked like at least several more inches had accumulated on the steps and sidewalk. The cab driver was standing by the car, rubbing his hands to keep warm as he looked at the house in concern. He perked up when the door opened, but then gawked in confusion.

"Hey!" he said, as the trio came down the stairs. "Where's that guy who was with you before? You know, the one who fell through the porch?"

Bakura flamed red. He had not considered how they would explain the transformation.

Yami Bakura was in no mood to explain. "I'm right here," he growled. "Don't ask questions; just drive us home."

The cabbie's mouth dropped open. "That's the same voice," he said. "But you . . . you're different! And aren't you freezing?!"

"Of _course_ I'm freezing, you fool!" Yami Bakura snapped, drawing his red robe around himself. "So instead of standing outside talking, let's get going!"

The driver gulped. "Y-yeah, sure," he said, fumbling to open the doors. "Right away. . . ."

Mr. Bakura stared at the crabby Egyptian, then at his son. Bakura gave a nervous laugh as he helped Yami Bakura into the back of the cab.

"Oh well," he said. "After what he's been through tonight, he has a right to be sore. . . ."

"Maybe so," Mr. Bakura said as he got in after Bakura. "But what's his excuse the rest of the time?"

Bakura just scratched his cheek, embarrassed. Yami Bakura muttered something in Egyptian.

The cab driver shook his head as he started the engine. "What a crew," he said to himself.

****

Bakura blinked in surprise when the cab pulled into their driveway some time later. Two figures were standing on the darkened porch. As the cab arrived, they turned to look.

"Hey! Bakura!" one of them called. They both ran down the stairs and over to the cab. One nearly slipped on the snow and ice, flailing helplessly, but then was able to right himself

Mr. Bakura raised an eyebrow. "Your friends?" he said.

"It's Joey and Tristan," Bakura said in surprise.

Yami Bakura grumbled, opening the door on his side and stepping out. He was feeling stronger now, though his abdomen was still burning. He placed a hand over it as he straightened.

Joey skidded to a stop, Tristan right behind him. "Hey, Bakura . . . _GAH!_" The Brooklyn boy looked at the thief in horror. "It's Scarface!"

Yami Bakura looked at them both in annoyance. "You spoke to me several days ago," he growled, "so it shouldn't be a surprise that I'm here now."

"Yeah," Tristan retorted, "but you didn't look like _that_ then."

Bakura got out of the cab next, blushing as he went to stand by Yami Bakura. "He can switch between his forms," he said, feeling awkward.

"You didn't tell us that before," Tristan frowned.

"It wasn't necessary," Yami Bakura said. "Now, do you have something to say or not?"

Tristan glowered at him before looking back to Bakura. "We came to tell you about Yugi," he said.

Joey nodded. "He's gonna be okay," he said. "He's not awake yet, but he's out of the woods."

Bakura brightened, relief shining in his eyes. "That's wonderful news!" he exclaimed. "Does Duke know yet?"

"We haven't been able to get hold of him," Tristan said. "But we'll keep trying."

"Oh, I hope you reach him," Bakura said in concern. "He was terribly upset earlier."

"Yeah, I can imagine." Tristan frowned.

"So where've you guys been so late?" Joey asked.

"Let's just say you won't have to worry about the White Death any longer," Yami Bakura said as he went past.

Joey gawked at him. "What's that supposed to mean?!" he cried.

Mr. Bakura came over from where he had been paying the gleeful cabbie. "It means it's a story for another time," he said firmly, taking out the housekeys. "It sounds like you've had a horrible night. Ours hasn't been much better. But if your friend's going to be alright, it sounds like a good time for both of you and us to take a good long rest."

Tristan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, you're right, Mr. Bakura," he said. "Sleep sounds really good right now. It's been a crazy, long day. Téa's still at the hospital."

Joey nodded. "Hope you're all are okay," he said. "Even that guy there." He looked to Yami Bakura, waiting impatiently on the porch.

Bakura smiled tiredly. "Thank you, Joey," he said. "Please tell Yugi he's in my thoughts and prayers if he wakes up before I can get there."

"Will do. Take care of yourself, pal." Joey waved as he walked past.

Tristan nodded in agreement as he followed. "See you around, Bakura," he said.

Bakura watched them go, then smiled weakly at his father. "I'm so glad that Yugi's going to be alright," he said.

Mr. Bakura nodded. "It's good to hear," he said. "I hope your other friend can be contacted."

"So do I." Bakura hesitated as they headed up the walkway. "Father . . . ?" he ventured.

Mr. Bakura looked to him. "What is it, Ryou?" he asked.

Bakura bit his lip. "Back at the house, you said that Tuomas had interfered with 'this family' for the last time," he said. "And . . . I don't know, I just had a bit of an odd thought, I suppose. . . . I wondered if you were including Yami when you said that."

Mr. Bakura stiffened. "I don't think I thought much of it either way," he said. He sighed. "I guess technically he _is_ family, if he's really our . . . ancestor." It felt so odd to say that. "And . . . he's here to stay, isn't he." It was a statement, not a question.

"I hope so," Bakura said honestly. "I know he's rough around the edges, Father, but he's been a good friend. He does care about me . . . and I care about him, too."

Mr. Bakura was silent. "I know," he said then. He smiled a bit. "I guess we can consider him part of the family."

Bakura smiled brighter. "Thank you, Father," he said.

Mr. Bakura sighed. ". . . But does he really have to do things like chew on the turkey gizzard?" he asked.

Bakura chuckled nervously. "Well . . . he is what he is, I suppose."

"I suppose," Mr. Bakura said, looking and sounding weary. "But some proper manners wouldn't hurt."

Bakura just shrugged, looking helpless.

As they reached the porch, Yami Bakura glowered at them both. "You walk too slow," he said. "I took a spear in my gut and I got here before either of you."

Mr. Bakura gawked at him. "You . . . what?!"

Bakura rubbed the back of his neck. "I did say it was a long story," he said.

Mr. Bakura inserted the key into the lock. "Yes . . . yes, you did," he said.


	14. Epilogue

**Notes: Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me through this one! It's been a wild ride; definitely the creepiest thing I've written. I look forward to sharing my next ideas with all of you.**

**Epilogue**

Bakura stood at the heavy wooden door, his fist poised to knock. It really should not be such a hard decision, he scolded himself. He wanted---needed, even---to be here, to do this. But he could not help the concerns that maybe it was a bad time, maybe he should come back later, maybe . . .

At last he drew a deep breath and softly tapped three times.

"Come in," came Yugi's voice.

Bakura pushed the door open and stepped into the hospital room. He blinked in surprise, then smiled, at what he saw. Yugi was sitting up in bed, looking well on the mend. Duke was sitting in the chair next to the bed, leaning forward with his arms on his knees and his hands clasped.

"Hey, Bakura," Yugi greeted.

Duke echoed the welcome, sitting up straighter in the chair. "How are you doing?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm well, thank you," Bakura said. "But I wasn't the one hurt. How are both of you?"

"I should be able to go home before long now," Yugi smiled.

Duke nodded. "I'm doing a lot better now that I see him like this," he said.

Bakura was visibly relieved. "That's so good to hear," he said. "I still feel terrible that all of this happened because that madman was coming after me." He looked down. "I've been having nightmares about what happened . . . and what could have happened."

"I think anyone would," Yugi said in concerned compassion. Bakura might not be aware of it, but he looked exhausted and drawn. The dark circles under his eyes were very pronounced.

"Are you sure you're alright, Bakura?" Duke wanted to know.

Bakura nodded. "They're only nightmares, after all."

Sensing Bakura did not want to talk about it, Duke changed the subject. "I heard your father's been at home the last few days," he said.

Bakura smiled again. "That's right," he said. "It's been a very nice change."

"So how does he get along with . . . uh . . ." Duke frowned, running into the same problem that all of them had been encountering. What were they supposed to call an ancient tomb-robber who shared Bakura's name?

"They tolerate each other," Bakura said. "We all had quite a time of it in the White Death's house. But at least it seems to have made them like each other a bit. . . ."

"Well . . . that's good," Yugi said. From his tone, he was still not sure what to think of Yami Bakura being around again. But at the same time, he was trying to make good on his vow and trust Bakura's judgment on the matter.

"He really was a big help," Bakura said. "I never could have gotten out of that mess if it hadn't been for him."

Yugi smiled. "I believe you, Bakura," he said. "It's strange to think of him that way, but I know you wouldn't lie about it."

"So where is he now?" Duke asked, unable to help being curious.

"He's home," Bakura said. The last thing Yami Bakura wanted to go was to go visiting at a hospital, especially to someone he did not even particularly like and especially when he was not fully recovered himself. He had refused to admit that to Bakura, but the boy had seen how the scar from the impaling was still bothering him.

Duke nodded. "That White Death guy was even creepier than I thought," he said. "I heard that when the police went to his place, they found a whole bunch of white animals locked up. Some of them were strays, but others had been reported as missing and had worried owners."

Bakura frowned. "Was that all that the police mentioned finding?" he queried.

"I think they said they found some stuffed animals, too," Duke said. "But that's all I heard."

Bakura gave a slow nod. The ultimate horror of the White Death was probably being kept secret---unless he really had not kept any people in that house. If not, however, Bakura had to wonder what he had done with them . . . and if anyone would ever know.

"The police said he's completely disappeared," Yugi said.

"Well . . . not completely," Bakura said. "I think he's in the Shadow Realm somewhere. . . ."

"Oh," Yugi said, suddenly understanding.

"Your Yami's handiwork," Duke added.

Bakura nodded. "I'm afraid it had to be done," he said.

Uncomfortable, he changed the subject. "I suppose I should be getting back," he said. "I just wanted to check on you, Yugi. And you too, Duke. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Duke shrugged. "Yeah, well, you just happened to come at a good time to catch us both," he said.

Bakura smiled. "I'm glad," he said.

Yugi nodded. "Come again, Bakura," he said. "Or come over when I'm out of here. Maybe we can play Duel Monsters."

"I'd like that," Bakura said. "We never have had a chance to play a friendly game of Duel Monsters. Something else always seems to get in the way."

Both Yugi and Duke refrained from mentioning that in the past, the "something else" was Yami Bakura.

"Well, I'll see you later," Bakura said, as he started to back up to the door. "And again, it's good to see you recovering, Yugi, and you too, Duke." He waved before turning and stepping into the hall.

Duke gave Yugi a sidelong glance as the door shut. "What do you think?" he asked.

Yugi sighed. "I don't know," he said. "I said I'd trust Bakura, and I do. At least . . . I believe that he believes what he's saying is the truth. But I . . . I guess I can't help wondering if the spirit of the Ring has some kind of a hold over him." He looked down at the quilt. "Even knowing his horrible past, it's hard to know whether we can trust him when he hasn't really expressed any kind of remorse for what he did. . . . But . . . he did act worried for Bakura, and that was something I hadn't ever thought I'd see." He looked up again.

"Did Bakura act uneasy at all the time he asked you over?" Duke said.

Yugi shook his head. "Not about him," he said. "Actually, they seemed to be getting along pretty well."

Duke nodded. "Same here." He crossed his arms. "There's not much to do except just watch and see how things go."

"Yeah. . . ." Yugi sighed. "I just hope Bakura's right and the spirit isn't going to turn everything upsidedown again."

"Who knows," Duke said. "Maybe he'll surprise us."

****

The walk home was quiet and pleasant. Bakura stared up at the sky, watching as snowflakes danced and twirled to the ground. He had feared the white nights as long as the White Death had roamed Domino City. But now that he was gone, all was peaceful once again.

His eyes saddened as he crossed the street. How many lives had the White Death taken, not just in Domino, but throughout his entire multi-century reign of terror? It was just a miracle that Bakura's friends and family had been spared. Others had not been as lucky. And as hard as Bakura tried, he could not help feeling responsible in some way for the Domino City deaths. If only there was something he could do to make recompense to their loved ones. . . . But of course, nothing he could do would bring back the murdered.

He had been keeping poor Yami Bakura up a good deal of the nights since the White Death's demise. No matter how he tried not to think about the horrors that had taken place, they crept out in his subconscious and into his dreams. Then he would wake up screaming and crying out, with Yami Bakura grabbing him and yelling for him to calm down; it was only a dream. The thief had really been quite patient, all things considered---though of course he had also been gruff. But Bakura felt terrible, to be the cause of him waking up when he was trying to sleep. He needed the rest too, after the impaling he had suffered.

He sighed as he trudged onto his block and to the house, now brightly adorned in Christmas lights. He gave a sad smile, turning up the walkway and climbing the steps to the porch. Digging his keys out of his pocket, he unlocked the door and stepped inside the living room.

"Father? Yami?" he called, stomping on the mat to get the snow off his boots. He left them and his coat by the door as he wandered through the silent house. There was no sign of either of them downstairs. He mounted the stairs, heading up to the second floor.

A flash of white caught his eye and he blinked, looking towards the room he shared with Yami Bakura. "Yami?" he asked as he walked over and peered through the doorway.

Yami Bakura was sitting in the windowseat, staring out at the newly-white property. His red robe hung loosely around his shoulders, but he seemed heedless of the chill to his bare chest. Or anything else, really; he looked deep in thought. But as Bakura stepped closer he stirred ever so slightly. He was aware of the boy's presence.

"Your father is at the museum," he said.

Bakura nodded. "Oh." That was not really a surprise.

"He said he would try to be back for dinner."

Bakura smiled. "I'll have to make sure it's ready on time."

He studied the other for a moment. "You're still in this form?" he said in surprise. "I thought you'd switch back when you were feeling well enough."

A shrug. "I can't decide which one is really me," Yami Bakura said.

Bakura sat next to him. "I think they both are you, in different ways," he said.

His gaze drifted to the cruel scar on the other's abdomen. ". . . I still wonder why the spear left that," he said with a shudder. "Why didn't it heal without a scratch?"

Yami Bakura grunted. "If I had to guess, it left a physical reminder so that we could never forget what happened in that penalty game," he said.

Bakura cringed. "I could never forget, no matter what," he said.

A smirk twisted Yami Bakura's features. "And as for myself, having a magical spear run me through really isn't something I could easily forget," he said.

Bakura looked down. "I'm so sorry, Yami," he said. "I tried to grab for it when the White Death was summoning it to him. . . ." He clenched a fist, the horrible memories flashing through his mind again. He had leaped for the spear, but it had been going too fast. He had crashed to the floor, helpless to watch as it had plunged into Yami Bakura's body. . . .

Yami Bakura growled. "You did your best," he said.

"But it wasn't good enough," Bakura objected. "I'm frankly amazed that I was able to save you later, Yami. . . ."

"Ridiculous," Yami Bakura said. In his heart he wished he knew what to do to make Bakura understand that not everything he tried to do turned into a disaster. It was a dilemma he did not know how to fix. Bakura still carried the scars of the past, as well as his feelings of guilt from the White Death's recent rampage.

Bakura fell silent. ". . . The White Death really is gone, isn't he?" he quavered. "I mean . . . he can't ever get out of the Shadow Realm?"

"Of course not," Yami Bakura growled. "My power won't allow it."

Bakura looked silent. "But . . . when Marik's dark side sent souls to the Shadow Realm---even us!---we were able to come back when his power was broken," he said. "Doesn't that mean it's possible that the White Death could come back?"

Yami Bakura's expression darkened. ". . . Yes, it's possible," he admitted. "But unlikely. I don't intend to fall. Anyway, the longer one is in the Shadow Realm, the more their mind becomes assimilated with the darkness. They lose whatever they had left of their minds and become one with the shadows. It's not a great deal unlike my experience with Zorc."

"That's horrible!" Bakura gasped.

Yami Bakura shrugged. "Only the strongest minds can survive such a place," he said. "You could have been restored in body, but not in mind. You were one of the lucky ones."

A shiver went up Bakura's spine. "I don't want to feel sorry for the White Death, but . . ." He let the sentence trail into nothing. Instead he smiled at his friend. "You risked everything to keep me safe, Yami. I would never have made it through this without you."

"Don't underestimate your own strength," Yami Bakura answered. "Your will is far greater than you even realize. I'd be dead without you; you were the only one who could have saved me. And your desire to save me preserved your life as well." He glanced at the scar. "That is what this mark truly represents."

Bakura shook his head. "No . . . it represents the sacrifices made by two friends, not just one," he said. "Two friends who wanted more than anything to save each other."

Yami Bakura grunted. "Now you're getting sickeningly sweet," he said.

"It's the truth," Bakura said.

"You realize, I could just as easily burn as the White Death did, if I misuse the Infinity Ring's power," Yami Bakura said suddenly.

"But you won't," Bakura said. "You haven't. You've only used it in the name of justice."

"Bah! Do you think I wasn't filled with hatred when I used it to destroy the White Death?" Yami Bakura retorted. "Emotions such as that are what the Infinity Items don't want to be used to fuel."

"Anyone would have been filled with hate," Bakura said quietly. "I felt the same way."

"This isn't an occasional thing; hatred has controlled and consumed me for three thousand years," Yami Bakura said. "It isn't going to stop now. And it's only fair to warn you of that."

"It _has_ stopped." Bakura's tone was so firm and certain that Yami Bakura just stared at him in disbelief. "You won't let it control you, Yami. Not anymore."

A dark sneer curled Yami Bakura's lips. "You saw how I brutally attacked the White Death and you can still say that?" he said. "I crave vengeance. Now I want to see those suffer who have brought agony and misery to you as well as to me. The thirst for bloodshed is still in my veins. And yet you have put aside your fear of me. You even call me friend. But someday it will all be over, Bakura. Someday you will be as terrified of me as you were of the White Death." He laughed a dark, humorless laugh. "I say again that Shadi and those above him were all fools, to give me this Ring in the hopes that I would be good."

Bakura frowned. The man's bleak words had pierced his heart---and the knife was still stuck there. For a long time he remained silent, working out the best response. Then, deciding, he leaned over and embraced the astonished Yami Bakura.

"I won't deny I felt a twinge of fear when I saw your assault on the White Death," he said as he pulled back. "But I can see things you can't, Yami. And I could never fear you as I've feared him. Especially not now."

He peered at the tired Egyptian. ". . . Yami, I admit I don't exactly know what your identity is right now," he said. "You're no longer the Thief King. And you're certainly not Zorc. But . . . I know you're someone special to me, whatever name you go by and however you choose to look." He eased himself off the windowseat. "And no matter how strongly you insist you're beyond hope, I know better.

"You _are _good, Yami. You just don't realize it yet."

Yami Bakura stiffened, his lavender eyes registering his immense shock at the boy's words and optimism.

Bakura just smiled, leaving him alone in the room to stare at the white winter night and ponder on the mysteries of the past three thousand years.

And hopefully eventually, to come to the same answers.


End file.
